


Mother-bleep, said Stiles Stilinski

by vacci_piano



Series: Stop Making It Worse [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bodily Fluids, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Dub-con elements, Everyone Is Alive, Exhibitionism, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Magic Made Them Do It, Morally Ambiguous Stiles Stilinski, Mother's Day, Mpreg, NO BETA WE DIE LIKE DARACHS, Prom, Sexual Harassment, Size Queen Stiles Stilinski, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:42:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24115219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vacci_piano/pseuds/vacci_piano
Summary: “I’ll make you a deal. If you manage to not mess up for one week, you can top as many times as you want.”
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Cora Hale/Lydia Martin, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Stiles Stilinski & The Pack, Stiles Stilinski/Everyone
Series: Stop Making It Worse [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1525187
Comments: 55
Kudos: 208





	1. Chapter 1

“Hey Derek.”

Derek grunts in answer, as per usual.

“When do I get to top you? Or is that something your wolf isn’t comfortable with?”

“I’ll make you a deal. If you manage to not mess up for _one week_ , you can top as many times as you want.”

Pfft. “That’s easy.”

“If you say so…” Derek trails off and Stiles bristles at the tone.

*

Stiles muses how much money he could charge spectators for another display of _Two Sexy Blondes Catfighting_ , and whether he could up the ticket prices if he invested in a mud ring. He’s already started looking into it, and apparently you can get 60 gallons of mud for less than a hundred bucks, to be delivered within 2-4 business days.

Erica is about to sink her claws into Jackson who’s _this_ close to beta-shifting in the middle of one of the school’s busiest hallways, but Stiles decides he’s had enough and blows into the dog whistle he’d stolen from his dad. (Besides, there are plenty more whistles at the station if his dad intends to keep on tormenting Derek.)

Erica and Jackson groan in agony, both doing their best to cover their ears as they sink onto their knees in a controlled descent. The show finally over and done with, the many students around them disperse; hopefully they’ll be more occupied with getting to class on time than what they almost just witnessed.

When Stiles takes the whistle out of his mouth, both betas are already up and giving Stiles their best glares. It does nothing, of course; _nothing_ will ever beat Derek’s bitchface. Stiles brings the whistle back to his mouth and the two betas cower in fear; Stiles gives them his best stink eye, and both scramble away in haste into opposite directions.

*

At lunch, Lydia has deigned to join his and Scott’s table with a carefully packed and delivered sushi selection. They’re back to being friends again, after Lydia’s slightly manic episode when she realized she’d have to brave her Senior Prom in _plaid_ – if you can’t beat them, join them, or, in Lydia’s case, _own_ them – which prompted a slightly guilty Cora to take the banshee for a much-needed shopping spree. Apparently, you _can_ get a designer dress in plaid. Who knew? Stiles hadn’t.

After careful consideration, Lydia – having decided she might have been possibly, _maybe_ ( “Don’t push it.” ) in the wrong for her part in decimating Stiles’ wardrobe – had selected a few nicer looking plaid shirts and gifted them to Stiles as a token of her appreciation slash apology. Stiles considers the matter resolved after Lydia promised to never interfere with his choice in fashion, provided Stiles never messes with Lydia again. One time was too many to convince her of the true evil lurking within. As if that was ever in question.

Stiles digs into his backpack, grabs an unopened jar of his new favorite brand of pickles and hands it to Scott. His bro looks confused but twists the lid open and hands it back.

“Um, Stiles? Aren’t you eating anything else?”

“Nah. For some reason I’m not really into,” Stiles points at the nondescript contents of Scott’s tray and Lydia’s rolled up pieces of mercury poisoning, “all that. I’ve been really into pickles lately. Somehow I just can’t get enough.”

“Stiles.”

“Yeah?”

Scott doesn’t look confused anymore. Even Lydia has stopped eating and stares at Stiles with her wide, knowing eyes. Stiles doesn’t understand their meaning until Scott looks pointedly at Stiles’ jar of pickles, then at Stiles, then the pickles again and _it clicks_.

Stiles looks at his jar of pickles.

“Oh, pickles,” he says.

“Yeah,” Scott agrees.

Lydia doesn’t say anything. She’s probably going through the logistics of what’s happening, and Stiles can’t bring himself to join her in her scientific curiosity.

*

It’s maybe not that surprising, then, that after school is over, Stiles marches into the nearest store _fuming_ and comes to a stop in front of a display of various greeting cards. Specifically, a display of cards wishing _Happy Mother’s Day_ and _Congratulation_ s _, You Ho!_ only written more nicely. Stiles grits his teeth as he goes over the selection carefully, before finding what he’s looking for. He supposes he’s come to the right decision, then; he does his best not to crumple the damn thing when he takes it to the register.

The girl manning it is the same one he chatted with just after Christmas, when he was still… Which is just… Really, the cherry on top of his oh-so-perfect day.

She takes one look at his purchase and congratulates him.

“Thank you,” Stiles spits out as he stomps away from the store, more pissed than he was when going in.

*

Stiles does a few meditative breathing exercises and rests his head against the steering wheel. Once sufficiently calm, he takes the card and gets out of the Jeep, slowly, and checks his pockets for the necessary tools.

The Argent residence is empty of any other cars in the driveway and Stiles is banking on nobody being home. He’s not surprised it doesn’t take him long to break in through the front door with his skillset; even then, it’s probably less his skills, and more _who would be crazy enough to try and break into the Argent’s residence anyway?_ that grants him entry inside. Before the alarm has time to go off, he swans over to the control panel and puts in the correct sequence of numbers.

He _is_ however surprised it’s the same code Allison texted Scott over a year ago. That’s just a security risk right there and only confirms Stiles’ suspicions further.

The Argents aren’t unguarded.

He walks through the house slowly, taking in the décor that screams it’s been taken straight from a catalogue. _Nothing to see here, folks, we’re just a normal family with normal family values and normal lives._ This is his first time back after his stint in the basement and funny games with Grandpa Argent, and he’s surprised how much the eerie atmosphere doesn’t bother him.

He places his card on top of the dinner table and sits down at the far end of it, as is his right as the guest of (dubious) honor.

It takes maybe a minute, maybe not even that. He can hear her before he sees her. A rumbling growl echoes around the otherwise empty house. Stiles thinks what surprises him the most, is the color of her glowing eyes.

Victoria Argent steps into the room, her heeled steps as delicate as ever, but her stance the very image of a predator.

“Hello, Vicky.” Stiles smiles. “I got you a card. I thought it was important to celebrate your motherhood since there’s a real possibility you won’t be here on Sunday to celebrate it with your family.”

Victoria’s eyes flash dangerously but she keeps her distance. _Smart._

“How did you find out about me?”

“You died, Vicky. Did you think nobody would notice you came back? Even without Allison acting and looking suspicious, and y’know, avoiding her own _boyfriend_ , there’s no way you could have kept yourself hidden for long.”

She wants to tear him into pieces, he can see she wants it, badly, but she won’t; she’s holding herself back, refusing to let go of her control. That’s very good, and it’s enough for Stiles to temporarily think he’s making the right decision.

For all intents and purposes, despite his lack of a reaction to her presence and the absence of pheromones signaling fear, Stiles is still painfully human and the Argents have a code. Well, some of them anyway. Stiles hopes for Victoria’s sake from now on she’ll be among their numbers.

Victoria sneers at him. “So you’re here to play the hero, then.”

Stiles looks her straight in the eye, face blank. “The hero? That’s funny. Aren’t you used to hunting down monsters? Don’t you recognize me?” He leans over and she flinches. “Face it, Vicky. We’re all monsters here in lil’ old Beacon Hills, and I’m the Big Bad.”

*

In Stiles’ Junior year, Derek returns to Beacon Hills in search of his older sister, Scott gets bitten by a crazed werewolf, Stiles almost loses his virginity to Heather and… Oh, yeah, Stiles dies. Spoiler alert: he doesn’t stay dead. Why would he?

*

Stiles thought he’d be elated at the chance to lose his virginity, but when Heather pulls him into the wine cellar with him, he takes another look at the non-growly girl with normal eyebrows, and his enthusiasm for her saps out _like that_. He’s not sure why he’s thinking about Derek at all – super weird and not at all relevant to his need to get laid – but all the same, he’s convinced his little Stiles is gone MIA, never to be seen or touched by Heather. Au revoir. Adieu. Pożegnanie. Hasta la vista, baby.

He takes a step back and groans in frustration. Heather’s smile vanishes when she goes to pull him towards her again and instead he grabs her by the shoulders and locks his arms so she can’t move closer, creating a gap between their formerly consenting bodies.

“Stiles?” She asks her friend.

“Okay, this is gonna sound really awkward, but I changed my mind. I can’t do it.”

Her lower lip actually trembles. “What is it? Was it something I did?”

“What? Oh. Oh! That would be a negative. No. You’re perfect. It’s just, uhh…” They’re friends, right? He can tell her. “See, sometimes you meet these new people, and they’re ridiculously hot so you’re like, oh wow they’re attractive but it’s, like, whatever right? Because it’s just a fact of life and has nothing to do with you. So you don’t register that you’re attracted to him – I mean them – because you thought they were attractive for the sake of being attractive and not because _you_ were attracted to them. And then maybe that attraction isn’t just attraction but maybe there’s something else, too.”

Bless Heather for being literate in Stiles-isms thanks to their years spent as friends, because she _gets it_. “You like someone and you’re in denial.”

“Precisely… I mean, no! That is grossly exaggerating things and I refuse to support this narrative.” Stiles wracks his brain and tries to come up with something that doesn’t reek of complete BS. Heather giggles and Stiles removes his hands so he can gesticulate at her inappropriateness with angry hand waving. He’s just had a life-changing epiphany _and oh my God he owes Danny so many apologies_ but Heather seems to be completely unaware of his inner turmoil. She just laughs harder at his attempts and Stiles is forced to conclude his friends are either the best or just the worst. The pits. The bottom of the barrel, and what does it say about him that he chooses to associate with these kinds of people?

That’s when their evening goes to hell, or an approximation of one.

Heather’s still laughing when _the monstrous-looking thing_ decides to terrorize them.

*

Stiles runs up the stairs, ready to scream for Scott because he needs his bro right now and right here and they have no time to lose. He pushes through the throngs of people, shoving more than a few red cups of lukewarm keg beer down people’s shirts and possibly creating a few years’ worth of grudges that will come back to haunt him one day, before he spots the first familiar face in the crowd.

Lydia is off to the side, alone, staring at her cup of unknown origin and contents, probably debating whether it’s worth it to try and get drunk.

“Lydia!” Stiles nearly flattens her in his rush to get to her. “Have you seen Scott? And oh my God, what are you doing here? I thought places like this were way beneath you.”

Lydia’s pouting. “Allison wanted to forget about Scott, so we came here. As you can see, she’s no longer here to keep me company, and neither is Scott.”

Stiles actually starts cursing out loud – he’s more prone to cursing inside his head, usually – and Lydia looks almost impressed by the variety in his vocabulary.

If Allison’s involved, there’s no chance in Hell he can get hold of Scott today, or have him answer any of Stiles’ calls. There’s a possibility Scott’s gone completely off the grid for _days_ if Melissa is too busy to check on her son.

“Right. You’ll have to do.” Lydia’s amusement turns into bemusement when Stiles grabs her hand and drags her with him with more force than necessary. There will be words later, he knows it, but right now Stiles doesn’t care. “Congratulations, Lydia. You’ve been promoted to the position of a hyper-competent sidekick.”

*

Breaking into Deaton’s clinic is easier now that Stiles has made himself another copy of the key; Deaton confiscated his last one, but Deaton should have known he was playing a losing game. Having explained the situation to Lydia on the way, they both get to rummaging for a book Stiles could have sworn was here the last time and –

“Found it!” Lydia exclaims, looking and sounding smug without actually looking and sounding smug. It’s a talent she’s always possessed, and Stiles would be envious if he wasn’t so impressed with her.

Stiles rushes over and flips through the pages. He soon finds what he’s looking for.

The Ritual.

Actually, it’s a good thing Lydia’s here. Who knows what kinda boost her banshee powers will give them in a ritual that relies on him dying?

*

The thing is… Deaton hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with information, and Stiles can admit a lot of that is on him rubbing the doctor the wrong way, so he’s been reading. Studying. Coming up with his own ideas, since magic like this? Largely left unexplored by Druids who rely on balance, whereas Stiles isn’t afraid to push the limits of what’s allowed, maybe tip the scales in his favor. Not if it means he gets to save his friends.

There’s no time for a tub of ice – where would he even get so much ice at this hour? – so Stiles comes up with a better plan. He goes through Deaton’s reserves of herbs and dried plants and starts grinding some of them into paste. The mistletoe may not be enough to kill a human, but paired with some other select plants, his odds at dying are far better. Actually, he doesn’t need to die at all. He just needs to trick his body into thinking he is. Add in some Mountain Ash and the right belief, and his spark will do the rest.

He has one of Heather’s earrings with him, lost in the struggle and adorned with a speck of blood, but he’s also got something far better. There’s skin under his nail that doesn’t belong to him or Heather.

He mixes everything together and adds in liquid to make his little concoction of horrors drinkable, and then he nearly throws up when he sees and smells the results of his work.

Oh God. He’s really doing this.

“Now Lydia, I need you to hold my wrist when I do this, feel it when my heartbeat slows down to nothing. And then I need you to scream. Don’t worry about how you’re gonna do it. You’ll want to.”

Lydia takes hold of his wrist and looks at him in wonder. “You know… I don’t think I ever really thought about how much you’re willing to do for your friends.” She looks a little scared too, but there’s a smile there, just the hint of it. Stiles takes a shaky breath, suddenly reminded of why he’s been in love with her for so long.

*

Stiles is great at plans and strategizing. Of course, while successful, his results are never very satisfactory, owing to his recklessness and need to get things done.

Say you want a sandwich. Stiles will absolutely get you a sandwich. Fail to specify what kind, and instead of peanut butter and jelly, you’ll get M&M’s smothered in mayo with weird bits of celery, as one very unfortunate Sheriff found out when he’d left his son in charge of packing his lunch the first time Claudia wasn’t there to do it.

When Lydia screams, and Stiles is brought out of his weird Mountain Ash fueled trip about some stupid tree stump, he can instantly tell something’s wrong. So maybe he shouldn’t have played so fast and loose with all the poisons, but hey, it worked and now he knows where to go. He can feel the pull, and through him, so can Lydia.

They get inside Stiles’ jeep with Lydia at the wheel, and Stiles hopes against hope he’ll stay conscious until they get to Heather. They don’t have a plan, exactly, and Lydia had refused to let Stiles go alone in his condition; she can probably scream and he’s got his Mountain Ash. It has to be enough.

*

They don’t find just Heather – who, thankfully, seems to be unconscious instead of dead – but Ms. Blake wearing some very funky clothes that wouldn’t look out of place at a Comic-Con. Or Hot Topic.

“What the hell. Miss Blake?”

That’s when Miss Blake does something very stupid. Unknowingly, of course. She attacks Stiles fatally, leaving him bleeding on that stump he had a vision about, but sucks for her, he was already a part of another ritual.

Miss Blake never gets the chance to hurt Lydia.

*

Stiles wakes up in the same white room with no walls, as when he started his ritual back at the clinic. This time he’s sitting directly on the tree stump, and it’s whispering things he shouldn’t be able to understand, pulling him in. Devouring him whole. It’s calling for Lydia, too, but she’s not dead like he is.

And holy shit. Stiles is dead. He can feel it. His dad is gonna kill him when he finds out.

Before The Little (Big) Stump That Could can devour the last of him, another consciousness from another being tries to break _in_ with a badly delivered _Knock Knock_ joke before it realizes its mistake. Stiles may not be alive, exactly, but it’s better than a prison. It tries to remove itself from Stiles, but by the time Stiles asks _Who’s there?_ and lets it in, it’s too late. The stump is hungry, and in an effort to sustain itself, it eats the thing in Stiles’ stead. Stiles would feel bad, but he’s pretty sure the thing that got eaten had evil plans in store for Stiles.

Quid pro quo.

Stiles just fed the stump something powerful and tasty. He can feel a bond forming between him and the stump – Nemeton, it calls itself – and instead of simply dying, the bond means he’s being kept in a state of limbo. It’s too tightly attached and wound around Stiles’ being to simply let him go and let him pass over to the other side.

The Nemeton decides to feed him with knowledge, premonitions of the future and Stiles devours every bit. Stiles reaches for his bonds with Lydia and Heather, but instead of drawing them towards him, he changes direction mid-course and aims for the one trying to harm them. He pulls and takes, until the Darach is nothing but an empty husk. (And wow, he’s learning so many new things he doubts even Deaton could explain.)

Lydia screams and the white room around Stiles is gone. He doubts he’ll ever see it again. He won’t need to.

*

Stiles is feeling better than he’s felt in months when his Jeep comes to a stop in front of the drive-thru intercom.

“Welcome to McDonald’s. Can I take your order?”

Stiles orders three large milkshakes, Double Quarter Pounders with Cheese, and extra large fries.

Beside him, Lydia’s tear-stained face is finally starting to lose its redness, and in the backseat, Heather looks pale, her clothes and hair caked in dirt and leaves, her face devoid of any discernible emotion. Neither looks to be doing too well, but they don’t protest when Stiles shoves the food at them and orders both to eat.

*

Most of the other party guests have gone, and Danielle greets them at the doorstep when they get the missing birthday girl back home; she glares at Stiles and slams the door in his face. He shrugs, unbothered. Heather will explain everything to her bestie later.

Probably.

… He’s never gonna get invited to another party, is he?

*

They’re sitting on Lydia’s bed, as Stiles does his best to explain the situation to her; he doesn’t have to say a lot because she’s smart enough to understand everything without too much difficulty.

“So anyone with ties to me has to keep themselves well fed, or the Nemeton will feed on me first, before feeding on them. Or maybe it’s the other way? Maybe I’m just a conduit and it will feed on me last. Oh, and I probably can’t leave Beacon Hills ever again.”

Lydia bites her lips as she stores away most of the information; Stiles can tell by her frown she’ll freak out later. “You said you could see the future?”

“ _A_ future. Singular. The tree showed me _a_ future, just one possible chain of events.” He scrunches up his nose in disgust. “I don’t think I like the one it showed me. People died. No, correction: some of our _friends_ died. I also turned evil for like a second, but…”

“That’s hardly news.”

“Right? The difference was, I had like, _powers_ because I got possessed by this ancient spirit – the one that got eaten, earlier – and shit went sideways real fast. Anyway, I think I’d like to change things… Oh! You and I got together!”

Now it’s Lydia’s turn to look disgusted.

“It didn’t stick. Don’t look at me like that! I was a very good boyfriend, and for a while there you were totally into me. Smitten. In absolute _adoration_.”

“I’m sure.” She grits out and Stiles throws his hands in the air, but he’s not waving them like he just don’t care. “Fine! Don’t believe me. But don’t complain when you come to your senses and don’t get to get all up in _this_.” He motions at the entirety of his body and Lydia rolls her eyes, before she freezes in sudden realization.

“Wait. Don’t get to? _You_ would turn _me_ down? Stiles Stilinski. Are you… giving up on me?”

Stiles draws his shoulders back and looks her straight in the eye, with all the sincerity he can muster. “Yes.”

Lydia is speechless.

“We work better as friends.”

“How noble and altruistic of you. Which of course means there’s another explanation. Is there someone else?”

He looks at the ground. “There were many someones but. No-one special. No-one that lasted, except…” Then he blushes, his voice timid and quiet. “There could be. Someone special, that is. And if I don’t do anything, it could take years. Maybe forever. Maybe I’ll never get to… The thing is, I’m not in love with them now – I don’t even _like_ them, I think – but I could be. I think maybe I was in love, will be in love? Just a little bit.”

“Stiles.” He looks up. “Who?”

*

Question. What do you do when you become a walking magnet for evil monsters that go bump in the night?

You get others to protect you. Like, say, a group of furry, bloodthirsty wolves. And their fearless leader. Who, as it turns out, has been the cause of many, _many_ confused boners, past, present and future. (But don’t tell him that.)

With a little direction, Derek could be a great Alpha. Even Lydia agrees.

He’s seen what happens, should Scott become the True Alpha, and Stiles wants to give him a better life. Scott gets to remain a beta, for now. In time, he will come to his True Alpha powers, but it’ll be on his terms, not because he’s forced into it through little games in the guise of his character being tested.

He’s seen what happens to Derek without a pack, and Derek will never be a lone wolf again. (“Puns. Really, Stiles?”)

He’s seen what happens, if he’s given powers he can’t handle.

“Promise me you’ll find a way to stop me if I grow powers? Or get Jackson to do it. Bet he’d love that. He gets to kill me _and_ be a hero.”

“Nobody’s going to kill you, Stiles. We just need to be careful and plan things.”

“What, do the one thing I’m actually good at? Well why didn’t you say so!”

“Don’t get sarcastic with me, Stiles.”

“Don’t front, I know you love it. Bee tee dubs, I’d like to go on record that me growing powers is the worst thing imaginable.”

“That bad?”

“Worse.” He confesses, dejected. They both fall on their backs and stare at the ceiling in silence.

*

Not long after his thing with the Nemeton, he’s forced to come clean to Deaton who asks him why he needs more Mountain Ash – he figured it was Stiles who went through his things almost immediately when his previous reserves were emptied – and for _who_. Then Deaton asks how Stiles could possibly know Kate Argent is not only alive, but back in Beacon Hills to torment Derek more, and so the truth kinda… Slips out.

Deaton stares at Stiles in horrified silence as Stiles finishes his story, and at the end of it thrusts an entire jar full of Mountain Ash at Stiles and tells him to get out. But only after confiscating Stiles’ key to the clinic, _again_.

Stiles thinks Deaton might be overreacting a little, but leaves when the guy threatens him with a restraining order. Stiles knows restraining orders are harder to get than people think, but Deaton’s starting to look desperate, so he leaves without too much protesting on his part. And hey, he’s got enough Mountain Ash to trap about twenty Kate Argents if he wishes to!

Disposing of the werejaguar turns out to be way easier than he expected. He borrows a gun from his dad and gets a few wolfsbane bullets from Allison – surprisingly easy since she doesn’t even ask what he’s using them for, _thank God_ , because that’s one awkward conversation he’s _so_ not ready for – and while it’s not as effective as yellow wolfsbane, it still gives him the necessary advantage to slow Kate down enough to take her out. He’ll have to warn Derek about the group of hunters who are on her trail and are bound to turn up sooner rather than later, though right now Derek probably wants an explanation for what Stiles is doing to Kate’s body.

So. Tiny miscalculation. He told Scott to distract Derek and he was obviously banking on the wrong person to do as asked, which is why he startles when Derek draws the loft’s doors open and is greeted to the sight of Stiles hacking Kate’s body into pieces.

They stare at each other for a moment.

“Heyyy, Derek. You’re home early.”

Derek’s eyebrows are doing a complicated dance as they shift from angry to anxious to disbelieving, and if Stiles could call Scott and yell at his friend right now, he totally would.

There’s a choked off whine before Derek manages to say anything. “I… thought you would faint at the sight of a chopped off arm.” Stiles drops the body part he’s holding in his hands, and it makes a wet smack as it falls to the floor unceremoniously.

“Ah, yes. A valid observation. You might think that, but actually, when the body’s already dead, I seem to be doing just fine. Which works for me, because I seem to be naturally talented at this whole… Murder business.”

Derek helps him clean up, and after burning the body parts in the crematorium Isaac’s still working at, they head out to grab a bite at Stiles’ favorite diner.

Derek is the third person Stiles decides to entrust with his secret.

“So you can’t leave? Ever?”

“Well, I _can_ , but it would be a pretty terrible idea, on account of me being like, a magnet for forces of evil and generally anything supernaturally inclined. At least here the Nemeton can take the heat off me. Mostly. Because I’m the smaller beacon.”

Stiles slurps his milkshake obnoxiously, but Derek doesn’t seem to mind it much. Usually he’d have ripped it away from Stiles by now.

“Let’s face it. I’m never gonna go to a good school, get the FBI career I’ve always dreamed about… I might as well just settle down and have a dozen kids.”

“Would that be so bad?”

“What?”

“Settling down and… having kids…” Derek becomes closed off.

Stiles keeps slurping his milkshake before he lets go of the straw with a pop. “Nah. It could be kinda nice, y’know? To have something other than,” Stiles points outside, “ _this_. It used to be one of my dreams, actually. Settle down with the love of my life in a nice house with a white picket fence, breed like rabbits, then get a puppy or whatever it is that functional people do.”

Derek’s expression is unreadable. “And you’d be content with that?”

“As far as trade-offs go, it’s not a bad dream to have. Don’t tell my dad, but I was planning on coming back after I was done with school anyway. Y’know, if I didn’t get to start my own X-files division while working for the FBI.”

They sit in companionable silence after that.

Stiles steals the last fry from Derek’s plate, and _look at that_ , Derek’s letting him. “So, hey, you ever think about getting out of here?”

Derek shrugs, won’t look Stiles in the eye. “I’m the Alpha. I’ve got a territory and a pack to run.”

*

“And that’s when I realized Derek has a type, and I just so happen to tick all the boxes that spell out _‘DANGER’_ and _‘DO NOT ENGAGE’_. By giving into my evil wiles, I somehow managed to attract the man of my dreams and hopefully, I can rule Beacon Hills with Derek by my side as we rot and fester in boring, monogamous hell or matrimony, whichever comes first. But really they’re the same thing.”

Victoria’s slumped on the chair opposite him, her expression the epitome of disgust. Yup, he’s still got it!

“My God… Do you ever shut up?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

Victoria rolls her eyes and waits for him to continue.

“Right. Moral of the story: do not mess with me. The safety of Beacon Hills it at stake, here. As long as we can work together and you don’t come after my friends, I don’t see any reason why Allison should lose her mom. _Again_. Are your eyes blue because you feel guilty for trying to kill yourself?” He doesn’t expect an answer to that last one, not really. Then he thrusts his right hand towards her and she eyes it suspiciously. “Do we have a deal?”

She sighs, but then they’re shaking hands and Stiles smiles at her. “Great. I still need to have a chat with Allison and Chris, but consider the matter settled. Keep the card.”

Victoria snatches the card displaying _#1 Mom_ in big, blocky letters with puppies and flowers in the background, and gets out a lighter.

It’s Stiles’ turn to roll his eyes. “Or you can do that. Whatever.”

*

**to Lydia 6.34 PM**

_Is Allison still at your place?_

**from Lydia 6.45 PM**

_Come over._

*

When Stiles gets to Lydia’s, and sees Allison waiting for him at the front of the house, Stiles can immediately tell from Allison’s stiff posture that her mom’s called her and explained the sitch. He waits as she comes over and gets into the passenger seat.

“Full disclosure. I know exactly how and when you and your dad brought Victoria back to life, because I was the one who put the idea into your head and mentioned the ritual in passing. Totally not a coincidence, by the way. I’m glad Gerard’s no longer with us, and I’m okay with the fact that you chose not to tell anyone what was going on. That’s not why I’m mad at you.” He finally looks at her, but she avoids his gaze. “We need to talk about Scott.”

Allison’s eyes are glistening with unshed tears but at least she’s not breaking into body-wrecking sobs. “I’m a horrible girlfriend.”

“Yes, you are, but you can make it right. I don’t think it needs to be said, but you’re being dumb, so here goes… Scott loves you. And I’m here to talk to you, as a friend, because I love Scott, too.”

“Oh God.” Cue the waterworks and the overwhelming stench of guilt even a non-werewolf like Stiles can detect easily.

“Y’know, my dad never let me have a puppy as a kid, but I have to say, Scott’s a pretty good substitute.”

“You think of him as your puppy? … That explains so much.”

“Yeah. So, listen. I’m going to need you to step up and start treating him right. I don’t care if your mom hates his guts. You shouldn’t care about what your mom thinks. Like, did I completely dream up our Junior year when you started dating? Because the Allison from that time had _balls_ and didn’t care what anyone – _especially_ your parents – thought about your dating life. From now on, you’ll treat Scott with all the respect he deserves.”

He doesn’t expect the hug, mostly because Allison has never cared for Stiles so much as tolerated him, but he welcomes it and even manages a few pats to Allison’s back.

“So how come your dad hasn’t been trying to avoid Scott, unlike you?”

“He thought it was no use hiding things, because he figured out you knew what was going on and were going to clue Scott in eventually. My mom and I disagreed.”

“You should trust your dad’s judgement more often.”

“Yeah. He actually likes Scott.”

*

Stiles waits for Mother’s Day with bated breath.

On Sunday, his dad and Derek walk into the kitchen straight from their afternoon shift at the station and are greeted by a huge spread of food laid out on the table.

His dad looks a little perplexed, because usually this is the date when both Stilinskis avoid doing anything special, aside from visiting Claudia’s grave at the cemetery. “Huh. I almost convinced Derek to skip our Sunday dinner, but I guess I shouldn’t have worried.”

“Dig in!” Stiles chimes in cheerfully.

Stiles waits patiently – well, he’s still jiggling one of his feet and he can see he’s annoying Derek, but he’s keeping quiet – until everyone has stuffed themselves full. Then he goes in for seconds.

“Son, shouldn’t you be slowing down? That seems like an awful lot of food, even for you.”

“Well, _dad_ ,” and then he addresses Derek, “Derek. I thought this would be the perfect moment to tell you I’m eating for two.”

His dad’s fork slips from his fingers with a clatter. Derek hums.

“You’re not pregnant.”

“What?”

“ _You’re not pregnant_. I would know, because I know what pregnancy smells like. So no, you’re not pregnant.”

So days spent agonizing about this was for nothing? The Sheriff breathes out a quiet _Thank God_ as he leaves the room, nursing his temples. Stiles chooses to ignore him, because Stiles is pissed and Stiles needs answers.

“… Why the hell not?! And what the hell was that before, y’know, when we – ”

“That was a warm-up.”

“A warm-up.” Stiles feels a hysterical bubble of laughter trying to break through, before he decides to go with fury instead, his voice hollow and tinged with angry intent. “That lasted for hours, Derek. For. Hours.”

“To really get you pregnant, we’ll have to perform the right ritual on a full moon, while the pack is present. We discussed this. I explained this to you. Were you not listening?”

Possibly.

Wait.

“When I was bathing the cubs? Derek! You know I can’t be entrusted with sensitive and _highly important_ information when my decision-making is compromised!”

Derek merely shrugs. The bastard.

“That doesn’t explain my food cravings though.”

“I told you. Your body’s ready.”

“You are the worst at communicating. The worst! What does that even mean?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What’s this? Stiles isn’t preggers, still? Don’t worry, we’ll get there.
> 
> I don’t have a beta, and I usually write everything on the fly, so excuse any grammatical errors and typos. (And please, feel free to point them out so I can fix them.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re being weirder than usual.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tigger warning for sexual harassment

If he’s gonna do this, he’s gonna do it today.

It’s great he did all the preparations already, because with Derek doing his workout routine all sweaty and glistening without too many clothes obstructing Stiles’ view and the musky scent permeating the air, there’s not a whole lot of brain activity going on. Derek could give his Adderall a run for its money for all the focus he manages to inspire in Stiles; too bad the focus doesn’t extend to anything other than ogling Derek.

Derek finishes his last reps and Stiles hands the Alpha a fresh towel and a sports water bottle. Derek opens the cap and brings it to his lips, but then he pauses.

He starts to bring it closer again and… Pause.

“Why are you staring at my bottle?”

Huh?

“You’re more interested in the bottle than me.”

“What? I just don’t like seeing you dehydrated. You get cranky when you’re dehydrated.”

“Did you… Put something…?” Derek doesn’t look angry yet, but give him time. “Are you trying to drug me?”

“What? No.” _Technically_ it isn’t a drug, so _technically_ he’s not lying. Too bad Derek’s long used to Stiles’ _technicalities_. He hands the bottle back to Stiles, very much not impressed.

“Drink it.”

“No, I – “

“So you did try to drug me.”

“Whaaat? No way dude, that’s crazy.”

“Prove it.”

And he does. He totally drinks it. Well, he does take a sip.

“The whole bottle.”

“You know, I’m really not that thirsty.”

“The. Whole. Bottle.”

With Derek looming over him, Stiles shudders and starts drinking. His hands are trembling but stopping right now could spell disaster, probably, so he doesn’t. When the bottle is finally drained, Stiles feels a tiny flicker of fear and wants to pretend it’s because of Derek.

He waits a whole minute, with Derek keeping watch and if someone were to walk in on them right now, they’d probably suspect them both of having a stroke or something. Thankfully, nothing happens, and Stiles allows himself to relax. His fear gone – _mostly_ – Derek relaxes as well and nods, satisfied. He takes the bottle and moves towards the kitchen sink to fill it up again. Stiles sighs morosely and feels like banging his head against the nearest wall. He’s brought out of his dark thoughts when Derek comes back and kisses him.

Stiles tries to push the were away, but his own hands are working against him; he should be pushing Derek away, _not pull him in_ , and for crying out loud, he just _had_ to tangle his hands in Derek’s hair, didn’t he? He hates Derek a little, because even when sweaty, or maybe especially when sweaty, the were just does things to him. He’s read about combability among couples who enjoy each other’s scents – it’s definitely a thing with werewolves to the point it probably influences the humans involved with them – and all things considered, it’s probably a good sign for their shared future that Stiles would honestly be happy just smelling Derek’s used clothes.

He moans when Derek’s hands start massaging his butt and he should really put a stop to this right this second, because this can only lead to one thing and unfortunately Stiles needs to abstain. Really, he should. _Although_ , maybe if it’s just the tip…?

Who is he kidding, it’s never just the tip, is it? He’s tried to fool himself before. The results of his previous failures tell a story, and he might as well call himself delusional if he’s looking for a different outcome.

Right. Focus, Stilinski.

With some effort and great difficulty, Stiles removes himself and steps out of Derek’s embrace with hasty steps, wanting to put as much distance between him and the were as possible, as fast as possible.

“Oh my, look at the time. Ishouldreallygetgoingsobye!”

Derek yanks him back by the waist and Stiles starts wriggling; not that it does anything, except make him rub against Derek. Derek huffs against Stiles’ neck half-annoyed, half-amused, and Stiles can’t fight the rising tide of goosebumps.

“You’re being weirder than usual.”

“Am not!”

“Maybe so. It’s difficult to tell with you.” Derek’s mouth moves next to Stiles’ left ear. “You’re hard.”

Stiles looks down at his own crotch, angry that his body keeps working against his interests; there’s no way he’s walking out of here without at least one of them getting off.

Although… There are other, completely valid ways to take care of the problem, of course.

“Can I blow you?”

They move towards the bed, but before Stiles can get on his knees, Derek makes him sit on his lap. Stiles tries to get up, but Derek’s keeping him firmly in place. The Alpha flashes his eyes at Stiles and gives a warning growl. “What’s going on with you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Derek sighs at the blatant lie and his hands come to rest at Stile’s backside, again, rubbing it in slow circles. Stiles renews his efforts to get away, but this time all Derek has to do to make him stop, is to cock an eyebrow.

Stiles groans and covers his face with his hands. “So I didn’t try to drug you, exactly, but there was something else in the water.”

Derek grunts, but doesn’t sound too surprised, so Stiles feels brave enough to continue. “I helped someone with something, and they gave me something in return that can, um, do something.”

“Isaac tells me you met the Goddess of Fertility.”

“Damn.”

So Derek already knows? Or at least… Suspects? He drops his hands and braves a look, wincing. It’s all the confirmation Derek needs, but Derek doesn’t get angry. The Alpha brings one of his hands up and cups Stiles’ face gently.

“You don’t want to be the mom?”

Stiles shrugs. “It’s not that. It’s more like, if I’m not the so-called mom in the equation, you can easily send me away if I fail at this whole… Parenting thing.”

“You can’t honestly tell me you’d have an easier time walking away, no matter who gives birth.”

Stiles tries to lower his gaze, ashamed, but Derek is still cupping his face, so he closes his eyes when they start to burn. Derek gives him another kiss.

“You’d be an amazing parent.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Who made Erica take down those pictures of Jackson when she messed with his hair?”

Stiles sniffles. “I did.”

“Who made sure everyone could apply and get into the schools and jobs they wanted the most?”

Stiles rubs at his eyes. “I did.”

“You’re a full-time pack mom not only to my betas, but to Scott as well.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. _Oh_. You know you’re more than qualified.”

Suddenly, Derek pushes Stiles down on the bed, his gentle expression giving way to something far more predatory.

“Even if I had had that drink, your plan wouldn’t have worked. I could _smell_ the guilt. Remember when I said you could top if you managed a week without messing up? Let’s make something very clear. Dosing me with an unknown substance without my permission counts as _messing up_.”

Stiles panics, somewhere between horror and arousal, but it’s not enough to stop Derek’s descent on him.

*

“… Just the tip?”

It’s never just the tip.

*

Stiles tries not to think too much about how potent the concoction meant to induce fertility could turn out to be, and whether it’s enough to by-pass ancient werewolf rituals. Probably? But also, he doesn’t feel any different. Any further thoughts he might have had on the subject are soon replaced by another worry.

Stiles’ school day starts as normal, save for one thing.

All the werewolves plus Lydia are absent for some reason, and nobody’s picking up his calls. He finds Allison, and she can’t reach anyone either. By lunchtime, both have worked themselves into a near-panic. To Stiles’ great relief, his call to his dad goes through, but he almost wishes it hadn’t when his dad informs him Derek didn’t show up for work. The Sheriff promises to check up on the Alpha on his lunchbreak; that’s still hours away, so _excuse_ Stiles for panicking.

He hangs up and bites at his nails while Allison pulls at her hair, both having reached their tipping points. Forced to exit the school premises lest they go completely insane and drive other students and teachers to distraction, they empty Allison’s locker of its weapons and head out to their respective cars, now fully armed.

*

The human cavalry decides to split up. Allison will enlist her parents’ help while she checks on her boyfriend and Isaac, then her best friend and her best friend’s ex-boyfriend, and Stiles will check up on the other betas _and_ the Hales.

Erica’s house is closest, but nobody’s home, not even her parents. Boyd’s grandma hasn’t seen her grandson since the day before, and now Stiles is really starting to worry. When he pulls up to Peter’s apartment complex – its location only known to Stiles and Lydia, as Peter still likes to pretend he’s got secrets nobody else could possibly know about – he can see movement in one of the large windows.

By the time Stiles has located the spare key, the front door slams open with a dramatic bang.

Peter is a trembling mess; his skin’s sweaty and flushed with what looks like a strange fever, his usually artfully-styled hair in complete disarray.

“Stiles,” he hisses in… Pain? But he sounds strangely relieved, too. “I’m so glad you decided to drop by.”

“What happened? You look like shit!”

Peter gives him a strange smile. “I certainly feel like it. I’m going to need your assistance with my… Problem.”

“Uh, sure…?”

Peter’s clawed hand grabs him by the front of his shirt and Stiles yelps. “Whoa! You know you can’t afford this merchandise, right?” Peter isn’t paying his words too much attention, if any, his pupils dilated as he leans closer.

“I know you can take Derek’s knot, so this shouldn’t prove too difficult,” he whispers, and wow, okay, _creepy_ , there’s really no need for –

Bad touch! Abort! ABORT!

Stiles puts all his strength into slapping Peter across the face; Peter makes a loud moan, eyes squeezing shut as his body shudders violently.

Stiles goes absolutely still, unwilling to confront the horrors of his current situation.

“D.. D-did you just…?”

He glances down and wishes he hadn’t.

He can’t help it. With jerky movements, he removes himself from Peter’s person and leaves the scene of the crime. Once back inside Roscoe, he puts pedal to the metal.

With shaky fingers, he locates his phone and dials Allison’s number.

“ _Stiles_.” She sounds a bit off.

“Allison.” He sounds like he’s about to weep for his lost innocence. Well, if he had had any left.

“ _We have a problem._ ”

Ha! Understatement of the year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to post this yesterday, but my wifi is a bit wonky at the moment.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **from Stiles at 10.39 AM**
> 
> please don't go to the loft. everything's ok so stay away ttyl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for sexual harassment and dub-con elements

Right. Change of plans. The Sheriff and Allison’s parents will stay out of this for… Reasons.

Allison’s eyes dart around the room, her face the epitome of troubled as she tries her hardest to look anywhere but at Stiles.

Meanwhile Stiles, for his part, is trying his best to ignore the two betas pawing at him. When Scott’s hand moves to pinch Stiles’ nipple through his shirt, he slaps the hand away. Scott’s eyes roll to the back of his head and he moans, sagging against Stiles. When Isaac attempts the same tactic, Stiles pushes the beta towards Scott and the two weres fall to the floor in a heap, groaning.

“Oh my,” Allison gasps and covers her eyes, her cheeks reddening further.

When Stiles had arrived at the McCall residence, he’d been a little suspicious when Scott had thrown himself at Stiles under the guise of one of their bro-hugs – a little too eagerly – and had definitely grown more suspicious when Isaac had joined their fold.

Isaac isn’t really a must-hug-Stiles kinda person.

Thank heavens for Allison, who at least managed to force the two into wearing sweatpants before his arrival. And good thing she had found them before Melissa.

Allison had walked in on the two sitting on the couch butt-naked – look, they were hot and sweaty, of course they’d want to take their clothes off - _manually stimulating_ each other – which, okay, he’s got no reasonable explanation for that – as they looked through Stiles’ old Facebook pictures. Those aren’t even his good pictures! And, honestly, Stiles feels a little hurt Scott doesn’t have pictures of Stiles on his phone. The betas hadn’t stopped until Allison shut down the laptop and took it away.

That Allison hasn’t combusted from anger yet probably makes her a saint.

“Can I take a picture of you with my phone?” Scott pants from under Isaac.

“No,” Stiles turns away from the mess on the floor and coughs to get Allison’s attention. “We should lock them up somewhere, preferably someplace where Melissa can’t find them.”

Allison can only nod, too traumatized to speak further on the subject. Stiles considers their options.

“We could take them to Derek’s loft, except… We don’t really know who else is affected. I guess we could drag them into our cars for the time being?”

Suddenly, Isaac is up and nosing at his neck and wow, Stiles is really not okay with this. He slaps Isaac and Isaac moans, _extremely_ gratified.

Stiles sighs. He walked right into that one, didn’t he?

“Right. We need to clothe these two dumb-dumbs. I’d say we change their pants too, but I think this, uh, _situation_ , isn’t going away anytime soon so let’s just… Leave it. You take Scott, I’ll take Isaac.”

Scott gets up, incensed, his eyes flashing gold. “No fricking way, Stiles!”

Isaac flashes his eyes in turn and growls at Scott. Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose and counts to three. When Scott and Isaac start circling each other, Stiles explodes.

“Okay! I will touch _neither_ of you,” Stiles ignores the whines and claps his hands, having made his decision, “because you two are going to dress _each other_. Yeah, that’s right! This is what happens when you don’t do as I say. _No Stiles time_. How do you like that? Oh, you don’t like it, do you? Too bad. Now shut it.”

Scott pouts and stares at the floor, angry.

Stiles glares at him. “Are you giving me attitude right now? Really, Scott? _Really_?”

*

They head to Derek’s, and Allison ends up taking the betas in her car since Stiles doesn’t want to deal with either. Judging by the healthy bloom on Allison’s face, she’s just as enthusiastic about the ordeal as Stiles, but she probably feels bad enough for him because she does it without being asked. She really is very sympathetic, when not influenced by her crazy family.

Once they’re parked, Stiles orders the two betas to stay inside Allison’s car. The betas groan in dismay, but then Scott brightens up. “Don’t worry, Isaac. Before we left, I took a picture of Stiles with my phone. It only shows the back of his head, but it’s better than nothing.”

Stiles confiscates the phone and deletes the picture, takes a few minutes to think and then blacklists Facebook, too. Scott’s data plan isn’t that great; Stiles isn’t just easing his own discomfort, he’s doing this for Scott’s sake. Mostly. He hands the phone back and uses Mountain Ash to trap the two in place, just in case they get any ideas. Before either has time to complain, he tells them to shut up.

“You’re not jerking off in Allison’s car. No inappropriate touching either! Nothing below the belt. Have I made myself clear?”

Both cross their arms and glare at him mutinously. It would be cute if they were preschoolers and not Seniors.

Allison starts for the building, but Stiles scrambles to stop her. “Wait!”

“What is it?”

“Do you think you could… Let me go in first? In case Derek’s in there and he’s not himself either? I’m not sure I can, uh, deny him his need to… Release. It shouldn’t take much, right? Just a slap?”

Allison looks up at the building, then back at the car and bites her lip. “Yeah. You do that. I’ll give you guys a minute.”

“Thanks.”

*

How ridiculous to think Derek could be found inside his own loft. Really, his own fault for just assuming.

Stiles hadn’t expected to find Boyd and Erica in Derek’s stead, but here they are, _grinding_ against him. He’s grateful for small mercies, but at least they’re not doing this in the buff.

Stiles squeaks when Boyd cops a feel and Erica tries to smother his face into her boobs – which admittedly look and feel fantastic, but right now Stiles is on a strictly meat-based diet, thank you very much – and when he resurfaces, he gasps and calls out to his cubs. “Come help Mama!”

The cubs come over, but instead of chasing Boyd and Erica away – their packmates and, therefore, not a threat to anyone present – they yip happily and lick Stiles’ fingers.

“I swear to God, if you two start humping my leg I am going to be so very disappointed.” The cubs cock their heads to one side and Stiles sighs. “Who am I kidding? You could never disappoint me.”

Allison finally enters the loft, takes maybe two seconds to assess the situation and tazes Boyd and Erica on the spot. The cubs whine but make no move to attack her.

*

After dragging Boyd and Erica to the sofa, they bring Scott and Isaac to the loft so they can monitor the betas for a few hours. Once they’ve determined nobody’s in immediate danger – besides the uncomfortable fever-like symptoms and some very unfortunate pick up lines that are sure to haunt the betas once they come back to their senses – Stiles seals the place with Mountain Ash.

“And no orgies!” Stiles orders. “My cubs will remain pure forever, so whatever it is you’re thinking of doing… _Don’t_.”

Stiles feels his heart break and wipes his eyes discreetly when the cubs howl mournfully after his retreating back.

“Aren’t you and Derek just going at it all the time?” Allison asks him, when they’ve left the loft and its inhabitants behind.

“Yes, but never in front of the cubs.”

Allison nods sagely.

*

It’s already getting dark outside when they decide to take on Jackson next. There’s two of them and only one of him. Stiles doesn’t even need his copy of the key; the front door has been left ajar, like someone has been expecting them, and it opens further with a creak. And yet, there are no lights on. The closest they get is the glow from the streetlights outside. How very ominous; Allison agrees.

The visibility isn’t the greatest, so they stay glued to each other, both armed with tasers this time.

“We know you’re here, Jackson!” Stiles calls out, his voice a lot calmer than how he feels. “Come out, come out, wherever you are. That shouldn’t be too hard, right? You’ve had practice, haven’t you?”

Allison groans as Stiles sniggers at his own pun.

Something thumps behind them and Stiles makes a very manly shriek, dropping his taser. Allison shines a flashlight around them, but there’s nothing there. Stiles clings to Allison’s back, fingers stuck to her shoulders and pressing down until they turn white, his heart beating rabbit-fast. When his breathing turns to normal, he releases his hold on Allison and settles on irritation.

“Dammit Jackson! Just come out, please.”

When he bends down to pick up his taser, something blurry barrels into him and sends him on his back.

By the time Allison flicks on the light switch, her eyes grow huge when she sees Jackson shove his tongue down Stiles’ throat. She tazes Jackson immediately and Stiles nearly gags when he has to spit out the suddenly lax and very dead-like tongue out of his mouth. “Oh, gross, dude.”

Allison helps Stiles roll Jackson’s heavy body off of Stiles’ and gives him a grimace. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

“Yeah. Not exactly the best thing to happen to me, no. But don’t worry, I’ll live. It’s not like that was our first kiss – “

“What?”

“Hmm?”

“I…”

“What?”

“You’ve kissed bef – “

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“You – “

“Let’s put Jackson into the back of Roscoe. That seems like a good idea right now.”

“… Right.”

He can tell she wants to keep asking, but one look at his impenetrable pokerface, and she gets to business. Right now his lid is tighter than that of a grandma’s Tupperware that hasn’t been opened since the 80s.

*

Stiles is wracking his brain and going through his vast knowledge about possible remedies for their unfortunate situation, but even the strongest cure won’t help them if he doesn’t know which one to use. First he’d have to know what caused the werewolves to be dosed up with _Love Potion Number 9_ and –

Stiles groans and pulls out his phone.

Izzy picks up almost immediately.

“ _Hello, Stiles._ ” She purrs and it gets Stiles’ hackles up. “ _Are you enjoying my gift?_ ”

“What the hell, Izzy?! You could have warned me!”

“ _You really are rude, you know? So. You finally decided to give my boon a go. What did you expect to happen? You know, if Derek isn’t up to the task, I know plenty of other candidates who would love to –_ “

“How was I supposed to know it would have no effect on me but instead target others?!”

Izzy makes a choked-off noise.

“ _… Others?_ ”

“Yes! I have at least six werewolves lusting after my ass, possibly more,“ and oh shit, should he have left Peter alone? “So you had better tell me how to fix this!”

There’s a long pause and Stiles checks his phone in case of disconnection; when he sees the call’s still going, a new sort of dread comes over him. What if Izzy doesn’t know what’s going on?

“ _Listen, Stiles… The potion I gave you… Did it have a label on it?_ ”

“No.”

“ _I see. Well, this is embarrassing. I think I gave you the wrong potion. But really, you should know better than to drink unknown substances._ ”

Technically, he hadn’t meant to drink it _himself_ , but he’s a little relieved it was him and not Derek, because he’s not sure about the level of murderous intent his own brand of jealousy could drive him to. He hopes nobody’s foolish enough to test him.

“Care to explain what sorta potion would cause someone to get off if I should slap them?”

“ _Any kind of touch made with intent from your end, good or bad, will feel good to those affected.”_

Stiles is honestly relieved Scott and the others don’t have a secret fetish for Stiles in thigh-high boots and a whip.

“ _It’s probably best I tell this now. Anyone with a pack bond to you will be affected, unless they’re human.”_

He’s never been so happy his dad’s human as he’s in this moment, savoring the feeling of relief.

“Wait, what about my cubs? They’re not human.”

Izzy makes a non-committal hum. “ _It’s a good thing they’re cubs, then. They probably still experience and process love and attraction very differently than an adult would.”_

Stiles feels like tearing his hair out but resists the temptation; he’s so done with everything. DONE. When Izzy’s done explaining just what went into making the potion he was gifted with, Stiles thinks back on their earlier conversation and is left with an uneasy feeling.

“You mentioned something about other candidates?”

“ _I did, didn’t I_?” Izzy sounds glad that the subject has been brought up. Suspiciously so. Stiles feels like unleashing some of his bad mood.

“I’m going to say this only once. If you fuck with Derek, you and I are gonna have a problem.”

“ _I would never –_ “

“And if I were you, and I had knowledge about persons or entities who might wish Derek harm or just generally make his life miserable, hide him away from me, that sort of thing? I’d be spilling the beans right about now.”

Izzy huffs into the receiver. “ _You are awfully presumptuous for someone so young._ ”

“And I’m asking you: are we gonna have a problem, you and I?”

“ _I’ll send you the list of names, shall I?_ ”

“You do that.”

And then he hangs up.

Having escorted Jackson safely inside, Allison comes out of Derek’s building and over to Stiles. “Everything okay?”

Stiles gifts her with one of his most convincing smiles. “Peachy. Hey, guess what? I know how to cure everyone. Also, I might have a list of names I need Chris to check out.”

Allison and Stiles decide to split up; Allison goes to check up on Lydia, and Stiles heads out to the Preserve in search of the missing ingredients he doesn’t have at home. He manages to find everything he needs and then some.

Like a very human-looking and naked Malia.

“Oh no,” he squeaks as Malia noses at his throat, scent-marking him, taking a lungful of him in deep breaths. This is bad. This is _Derek’s_ territory. His panic recedes a little when she makes no further moves on him, probably not used to her new body yet as her arms hang listlessly at her sides. She rests her head on his shoulder and Stiles manages a call to Peter, hoping against hope that this time his call will be answered, his shaky fingers making the task more difficult than it needs to be.

“ _Hello,_ _Stiles_.”

“Peter, before you do or say anything gross, I really need your help right now.”

“ _I’d_ love _to help, but first… Help me get off_.”

“Gross, Peter.”

Peter makes a breathy moan.

“Peter?”

More heavy breathing.

“Are you getting off right now?! Peter!”

“ _I love it when you call my name,_ ” Stiles’ ears start burning as he listens to yet another moan and Malia lets out a growl. The moaning at the other end stops.

“ _That didn’t sound like anyone in the pack._ ”

“Peter, I’d like you to meet Malia. Malia, I’d like you to meet the sperm-donor responsible for your conception. You two should meet in person.”

*

Peter stands unnervingly close, staring at Malia while she keeps staring at Stiles, completely uninterested in the older male. Stiles had graciously dressed Malia in his t-shirt and pants – she accepted them happily enough, but he suspects it’s only because they smell like him – leaving him standing in the middle of the forest, at night, with only underwear and a zipped-up hoodie to help cover his skin.

“Hands!” He shouts when Peter’s hands come dangerously close to his posterior. Stiles grits his teeth and Malia joins him with snarls in Peter’s direction.

“Since you seem to be functioning on _some_ level,” he takes in Peter’s still flushed skin, “I’m going to ask you to take Malia with you so I can start working on the cure.”

*

Stiles’ calls to Allison go unanswered, but he’s more occupied with mixing his plants and powders to spare it much thought beyond passing worry. Allison can take care of herself.

The problem with having access to hundreds of years’ worth of knowledge? Having access to _hundreds of years’ worth of knowledge_. You try keeping track of what works in what situation! It would almost be easier to just write everything down and sort them by category which, hey, he should totally do that when he has the time and when he’s not working under duress.

His dad is home by the time Stiles is done brewing some very murky looking slime in one of the pots that will have to be thrown out after use.

“I know you said to stay away, but I went by the loft after my shift, just in case, since you were acting shiftier than usual,” Stiles freezes at the mock-jovial tone, “and I have no-one to blame but myself for what I saw, but son… Your friends seemed a little agitated. Very eager to see you.”

Stiles’ eyes widen impossibly further and his dad snorts.

“Relax, kid. I knew something wasn’t right so I didn’t mess with the Mountain Ash. Look, do I need to be concerned?”

Stiles shakes his head.

“Will Derek be at work tomorrow?”

Stiles nods.

The Sheriff leaves the kitchen and Stiles scrambles to get everything ready.

First stop, creepy uncle and Malia. Stiles bites his lip, nervous. The cure isn’t really a cure, per se, but it does lessen the effects considerably.

Peter ingests the potion and gets a contemplative look on his face. “Hmm. I do feel a lot better. Like myself,” Peter’s sweaty pallor is already starting to diminish, “but I still feel very attracted to you. More than usual, anyway.”

“Then it’s working. It will fade away, eventually, but you have to _want_ it to go away. Like… Growing immune, by choice, since the magic that was used is the opposite of that.”

Peter hums, curious. Stiles asks Malia if she wants to stay with Peter – she’s still not talking but she seems to understand everything that’s being said to her – and she scrunches up her face, but then she nods in confirmation.

*

Erica gives Stiles a very intense stare. “Huh.”

“See what I mean?” Boyd asks her.

“Yeah. It’s… Different. I still want to do him, but it’s not like I need to. It’s not like it’s with you.”

Boyd bends down to kiss her and Stiles smiles. For all her immaturity, Erica is probably the most self-aware member of their group, and very in touch with her feelings, right after Boyd.

It’s unfortunate he can’t say the same about Scott. His bro’s still looking at Stiles with the same moon eyes Stiles has come to associate with Scott’s obsession with Allison. Isaac is faring a little better; he keeps stealing shy glances at Stiles but elects to keep his distance.

Allison will have to seriously romance Scott if she hopes to ever get her boyfriend to notice her again. And after the day’s events, will she even want to?

Getting the cubs to try his cure is harder, but they allow Stiles to shove his arm down their throats as he pours in the sludge.

And as for Jackson… The beta’s standing _way_ too close. “Face it, babe, I’m the best choice.”

“Jackson, this isn’t a competition.”

He checks up on Chris, who messages him that nothing’s come up so far. Derek’s still missing, as is Cora, and Allison still hasn’t called Stiles back.

Almost as if his thoughts were being read, his phone starts ringing.

“Allison?”

“ _It’s Lydia, actually_.”

Stiles checks the screen, but nope, he didn’t pick up Lydia’s call by mistake.

“Where’s Allison?”

“ _I guess she had to go to the bathroom._ ”

Lydia sounds like a different person. Instead of warmth, Stiles could swear there is a coldness in her voice that hasn’t been there before, and it’s throwing him off. The more he thinks about it, the stranger it feels.

“Lydia, by any chance, are you not attracted to me right now?”

Lydia gives him a hollow laugh. “ _Ah, yes. Allison explained the situation_. _I guess I’m immune._ ”

Oh. That makes sense.

“ _Listen, could you come pick Allison up? She’s having some car trouble._ ”

“Sure. Although, I could call Chris and have him come instead.”

“ _No!_ ” Stiles’ spider senses are tingling. “ _I mean, there’s something I need to discuss with you. Alone._ ”

“Okay… Look, there’s really no shame in admitting you’re under magic like everyone else. I already made the remedy.”

“ _I’m perfectly fine. I expect you here in twenty minutes._ ”

She hangs up and Stiles resolves to bring some of the leftover sludge with him. Maybe if he leaves it by Lydia’s desk and says nothing, she’ll drink it discreetly. Maybe she’s less affected than the others, and she’s annoyed at herself, hence the odd lilt to her voice…

He taps his phone to his chin, taking stock of the others present. Scott and Jackson are useless, Isaac could maybe be persuaded, but in the end, he settles on asking Boyd and Erica only.

“Do you two mind searching for Derek? Chris is checking up on some names for me, in case they’re connected to Derek’s disappearance. I’m guessing Cora’s with her brother. With you two joining the search, we could probably cut the time in half.”

Stiles promises to join them as soon as he’s picked up Allison. The other betas are free to go home, which they do, reluctantly, while sending Stiles wistful glances. Stiles takes the cubs with him; there’s a chance it will take a while for Derek to be found – something he tries not to think about too much – and nobody will be at the loft to take care of them.

*

The Toyota Derek bought Cora is sitting in the driveway. Odd, that Lydia would fail to mention her, but maybe Cora only got here after their call? The cubs whine when Stiles gets out.

Why does he feel like he’s walking into an ambush?

Lydia answers her door in a silk negligee and a matching robe, looking just as feverish as the other betas. Stiles groans; Lydia smirks, mistaking his groan for something else. Stiles pushes past her and takes a look around.

“Is Cora here?”

Something muffled sounds from upstairs, and Stiles has no time to ponder its origins when Cora appears at the top of the stairs, clad in a sports bra and shorts. She flips her hair and takes the steps down slowly; her labored breathing and sweaty skin paint another picture. Stiles grimaces. She’s gonna wipe the floor with him once she’s back to her old self.

Lydia grows impatient with him and drags him to the sofa, pushing him to sit on it. When Cora comes over, they both tower over Stiles, cornering him so he can’t get up.

“We have a proposition.” Lydia starts, looking smug.

“We both know you’d never leave Derek for one of us,” Cora leans against Lydia, and they give him their best smiles, “which is why we are making a better offer. If you ditch Derek, you could have us both.”

“Uhh… Is Allison here? Allison!” He calls out and there’s another muffled sound but this time it’s followed by a thump. He’s starting to panic.

“I really appreciate the offer, I really do, but I’m not really in the market, so why don’t you two…” He freezes when he realizes he forgot to bring the remedy with him inside. “Look, I forgot something in the Jeep, so I’m gonna go and get it.” Stiles stands up, intending to make a run for it, but is immediately pushed back down by Cora.

Lydia tsk-tsks at him and retrieves something from the nearest sofa table. To his horror, Stiles realizes it’s Greenberg’s spell book of dubious origin, full of even more dubious spells. And one of them is going to be used on him. Stiles starts flailing, but Cora’s hand isn’t budging, rendering his efforts useless.

“You leave us no choice. I guess we’ll just have to use another way to persuade you.” It’s the same voice Stiles heard in the phone, and he feels like banging his head against the wall. _Of course_ false love would make Lydia evil, instead of just plain horny. There must be a part of Lydia that realizes what’s going on, but instead of fighting it, she’s _twisting_ it.

“So, you two have had a long day, huh? The others, too. They’ve been busy.” He’s babbling, but it’s the only distraction he can manage. “Oh man, you would _not_ believe what Scott’s been up to.”

“Yes, Allison told us.” Lydia says distractedly and pores over one of the pages, likely going over the instructions. Stiles strains his neck and takes note of the few ingredients laid out on the table, mostly hidden behind Lydia’s back. So. _A mind control spell_. Must be his lucky day. “We tried the same thing, but then, it’s not really the same, is it?”

“What isn’t?”

Lydia waves his question away, too distracted. It’s Cora who answers.

“We roleplayed as Derek and you.”

It’s kinda amazing, how even under the effects of magic, the two still found a way to hold on to each other. Industrious. But so is Stiles.

“So. Who played me?”

They fall for it hook, line and sinker.

Cora scoffs. “Obviously, I was Derek.”

Lydia stops her reading. “Incorrect. _I_ was playing Derek.”

“No, I was definitely playing Derek – you can’t – that’s… There’s only one Stiles and one Derek!”

“Which is why I was Derek.”

Cora starts growling. “You wanna go again, bitch? I’ll show you who’s the Alpha!”

Lydia sneers and throws away the book. Before she can start anything, a roar stops them in their tracks.

“I’m the Alpha.”

Derek’s using his Alpha voice and Stiles nearly weeps from joy at the familiar sight (and sound). Allison’s following behind Derek, and she gets out rope; not for Cora, it turns out, but for Lydia. All Cora needs is a flash of red eyes to keep her in check.

While Allison gets the remedy from the car, Stiles updates everyone on the situation via texting, too tired to make a single phone call. He sags against Derek, winding his arms around the Alpha and clinging to the familiar frame. Derek takes one whiff of Stiles and growls – there’s a nearly inaudible whine there somewhere, but the growl masks it pretty well – unhappy with what his nose picks up on. Derek will have his revenge later; Stiles knows without asking. He’ll have to warn everyone. Except for Peter. Stiles doesn't care for Peter. Much.

“We’re okay, Sourwolf. We’re okay.” Derek does his best to scent-mark him anyway, and Stiles rubs himself against the were. “Don’t you wanna bang me?”

“I always want you. I can wait.”

Stiles feels himself melt.

Cure administered, Cora comes out of her _All Hail Stiles’ Booty_ -haze almost immediately; it’s Lydia who shows the most resistance. After Allison cuts the ropes, Lydia seethes and glares at Derek, but before she can try anything funny, Stiles swipes the discarded spell book from the floor.

“So what happened to you guys anyway?”

Derek sighs, looking tired and as done with everything as Stiles feels. “I was heading out for my shift at the station when Cora called me here. Lydia used Mountain Ash to trap me.”

Allison pats Derek on the back in solidarity. “As for me, I got here, explained the situation and tried to get them to come with me. As _thanks_ for my efforts, they brought me to see Derek and tied me to a chair. I couldn’t do much when Cora was keeping watch, but with her gone, all I had to do to break the line, was to fall on the floor and disturb it with my scuffling. I think the reason they didn’t call you here sooner was because they had trouble concentrating, and then they couldn’t agree on what spell to use. I didn’t hear much, but…” She trails off, looking disturbed. “There are a lot of spells in that book. Bad spells, I mean.”

Stiles makes a mental note to lock the book behind a safe in the Hale vault. To be fair to Lydia, before today this hadn’t been a problem.

Clearly, even the best of them could become compromised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My wifi is gonna be bad for the rest of the month, which means I really don't know when I'll be able to upload the rest of the chapters (and whether I should just combine them into one long chapter) since atm there are no public places that offer free wifi. #firstworldproblems


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No guitars were harmed in the making of this chapter.

It’s been a few days since Stiles became highly sought-after bait for friendly neighborhood supes.

The lingering scents really did a number on Derek’s possessive streak, despite the many repeated attempts by Stiles at showering and scrubbing; Derek’s upped his casual stalking to refusing to leave Stiles’ side like the clingiest barnacle, _and_ he’s taken to sleeping in Stiles’ bed at night. The Sheriff had objected at first but agreed to let Derek do his Alpha posturing after hearing the whole sordid tale. Well, the bowdlerized version anyway. (The only times Derek lets him have some breathing space, is when he's pumped Stiles full of his jizz, but like hell is he ever gonna tell his dad _that_. In any case, the Sheriff isn’t entirely clueless, owing to his brief visit to the loft during what Stiles likes to dub _Love in the Time of Quarantine_.)

While Stiles thinks both Derek and his dad are being ridiculous and dramatic about the whole thing, they have every right to worry. Apparently.

Because this fine morning, before Stiles has had time to enjoy basking in the glory of sharing a bed with a personal space heater and two adorable furballs, he’s rudely torn from his comfortable slumber by an unholy sound so vile, it takes his brain some time to reboot and register the gesture as what he _thinks_ is Scott’s latest venture into romancing him. A declaration of war against sleep, more like.

It’s a little past six.

On a Saturday.

Stiles feels a little responsible for his part in what has come to pass; Derek’s half-conscious form radiates anger and the cubs stare at Stiles in silent judgement, as if they know who the true culprit is. He shuffles out of the bed, missing the cubs by a hair’s breadth and only elbowing Derek twice – a personal record! – as he bravely heads for the open window.

“In my dreams, you loved me so gently, my abs grew weak.”

"Oh no," Stiles mutters, eyes growing in horror.

"Ooh yes, ooh, whoa, oh," Scott warbles as he slaps his guitar, “oh yeees, you di-di-did.”

Stiles leans out and waves awkwardly at a passing jogger who’s doing her daily sprints, silently begging for any divine powers that might be that the jogger remains their only audience. The jogger hastens her pace, sprinting away as fast as her legs will take her, and Stiles can’t find it in himself to begrudge her for what must feel like an adrenaline-fueled escape from stranger danger. Truth be told, he’s a little jealous she has the option to run away from this.

Like the mangiest, most flea-ridden alley cat behind a seedy restaurant dumpster, Scott is determined to continue his caterwauling that just won’t end.

“Awoo-ooh-ooh, _awoo_!” The last note bears such a strong likeness to the incident where a newly-turned Scott first attempted and failed at howling – the incident which later inspired Derek to write and gift each beta a Werewolf 101 manual Stiles isn’t allowed to read, ever – Stiles is almost transported back in time.

The cubs start howling along.

“Jesus, Stiles, _please make him stop_ ,” and it’s as close to begging as Derek can manage. The Alpha burrows himself under a pillow as if the thing is his only lifeline to auditory peace. Stiles feels genuine sorrow since his own suffering is already great; for a werewolf, the amplified cacophony must be pure agony.

“Go home, Scott!” He pleads. Scott stops playing and looks up, all smiles, blissfully oblivious to the carnage and pain his song has brought to poor, unsuspecting ears. Stiles sinks to his knees and lets his head fall against the windowsill. He looks up when he hears Scott climb up.

The beta seems eager for his review. “What did you think?”

“That I need to invest in earplugs and I’m now realizing you probably left out a lot about the time when you started courting and wooing Allison. The stuff you told me about was disturbing enough, but this is just… Next level. Dude! _You got a guitar_.”

“I traded my bike for it.”

“You couldn’t just buy…? Never mind. I know you’re one of those freaks who think if they unnecessarily sacrifice a lot for something, instead of going with the most convenient option, it automatically makes that something double in value.”

“Um…”

“I’m saying you’re being a dumbass, Scott. How are you gonna get to work on time from now on?”

“It’s okay, my legs are strong. It’s like they were made for running. Here,” Scott lifts up his right leg, “feel the muscles in this one.”

Stiles shoves Scott and satisfied with the resulting sound of someone vaguely resembling his former bestie fall off the roof, finally closes the window. See? He can make music too. And if Scott’s taking his tortured artist persona seriously, Stiles is only too happy to lend a helping hand. Give the necessary push, so to speak.

Briefly caught up in an internal philosophical debate on the merits of tolerating romantic gestures from unwanted sources, _which there are none_ , he stumbles back to bed. _Actually_ stumbles, because he’s too tired to act on his feet. He almost tips over to the floor, but Derek’s hand stops his fall and yanks him back onto the bed; all this without Derek cracking open his eyes. Stiles is very impressed with his savior and rewards Derek with a chaste kiss. Derek’s chest rumbles and all occupants of the bed go back to sleep.

*

The cubs are let out through the back door for ten minutes – just enough time to fill himself up with caffeine and for the cubs to do their morning business – before Stiles is whistling and calling them back inside. These days they seem to be growing a little restless; Derek should take them with him the next time he and the betas go hunting. Despite their harmless demeanor, Stiles doesn’t think it too unlikely that one day they might start to chow down on unsuspecting neighbors and passers-by. He’s pretty sure it's impossible to completely domesticate wolves of magical and dubious origins without using spells, and while he knows how to do it – in theory – he’s recently come to the realization that he’s not into the whole magical enslavement thing.

When he goes back up to his room, he takes one good look at Derek’s motionless and tired form, instantly coming to a decision. Crawling on top of Derek’s limp body and propping his chin on top of the muscular chest, his hands come out to play as they move to scratch behind Derek’s ears.

“ _I haven’t shifted_ ,” comes the disgruntled reply, partially muffled by a pillow.

“I’m training you. One day, you’ll shift by instinct without waking up.”

Derek raises his head to glare at Stiles. “My shift doesn’t start for another two hours. Go away.” Stiles snickers. And they say Derek doesn’t have a sense of humor!

“It’s your lucky day, grumpypants. I thought, since you’ve been working so very hard lately, and I’ve probably played a part in that…” “Probably?” “…I thought I’d let you sleep in today. I’ll go instead of you.”

“…Can you even do that?”

“Hundo P. I’ve been doing odd tasks and paperwork for the station since I could read and write and nobody wanted to babysit me. Doubles as a much better alternative to being grounded. Which, um, used to happen often. I can do the job with my hands tied behind my back. Or handcuffed. Which I’m also experienced in.” He waggles his eyebrows and grabs a towel. By the time Stiles returns from his quick shower, Derek has conked out again.

The Alpha’s deliciously pert buttocks are on display and Stiles is overcome by a sudden need to grab and explore. Would it _really_ be that wrong to give in to his urges? Derek had been awake just hours before and had had enough energy to complain about Scott, so technically, Derek isn’t even _that_ asleep and could potentially thwart Stiles at any time… Right? Right.

His plans for Alpha domination are halted, however, when he thinks to check his phone and is pelted with missed calls and messages. A light bulb goes off in his head when he sees who they’re from, and his mouth forms a perfect ‘O’ of understanding and enlightenment.

It appears there’s more to Derek’s tiredness than he suspected; that’s one mystery solved. Stiles wonders if this is a one-time incident, or if there have been other nocturnal activities he doesn’t know about.

*

Peter is cradling his head between his shaking hands, and Stiles is witness to the most pitiful groan he’s ever heard from the ex-zombie. Jesus, it’s almost a sob. He almost feels… Pity.

Stiles tries biting his lips to keep from smiling. Too bad it’s not very effective.

“I’d tell you to pack up and leave town, but I’m pretty sure that if Derek actually wanted to bury you alive, he would’ve done just that.”

Peter glares at Stiles, his eyes huge from sheer incredulousness.

“Explain _those_.” One of Peter’s perfectly manicured and sharpened claws points at the wolfsbane covered ropes and chains lying a feet away from his huddled form.

Stiles harrumphs. _Those_ are _his_. He had plans for those. Sexy plans! And now he can’t use them, because they remind him of Peter now, instead of their intended target. _Thwarted again_. Next time he’ll hide them somewhere Derek won’t know to look for them.

“Maybe he wanted to make a point. Don’t touch what’s his? He’s capable of ending your miserable life, but he won’t do it this time because he’s being nice? I’m just spitballing here, but I’m sure you get the gist.” Stiles tries to come up with something else to add when he sees Peter almost go into another bout of hysterics. “Don’t be such a drama queen. He even left you your phone! Obviously, he expected someone to come and rescue you.”

“No, Stiles,” Peter scoffs, “I think he just forgot.”

“But – “

Peter’s face darkens. “You didn’t see him, Stiles. He. Forgot.”

Stiles shrugs. “Somebody would’ve found the open grave eventually. Probably Isaac.” His gaze sweeps around the cemetery; it looks neat and mostly undisturbed. There are a few more empty graves with no coffins in them, just in case Derek’s little gang and associates have need for a quick disposal of enemies and the furnace isn’t on.

“What I wanna know is, how did Derek even manage to tie you up with wolfsbane-laced ropes?”

“He used gloves.”

“Derek has murder gloves?” Followed by “Were they leather?”

“You smell aroused.”

That is a bold accusation. Stiles retains the right to remain silent and it lasts all of ten seconds. “…Were they leather, though?”

Peter has the audacity to judge him with the accompanying eyeroll for such occasions as these (Peter’s possibly overcompensating for not being blessed with genetically superior eyebrows), even though Peter is the last person who should be judging others.

Peter seems to have finally calmed down, and he stands up gingerly. “And here I thought you were keeping an eye on me.”

“I was asleep,” and surrounded by his cubs. You try and find a better sleep aid. Here’s a hint: you can’t!

Too engrossed with _only the best memories ever_ , Stiles doesn’t register the danger until Peter’s already sidled up to him.

Stiles gives him the benefit of the doubt just this once – the spell is obviously lingering, and Peter’s probably traumatized and therefore susceptible for irresponsible behavior.

Stiles skedaddles, but not before utilizing his mace. It works like a charm.

*

The Sheriff looks up from his desk. “Derek’s not coming in today?”

“He’s like, super exhausted. I think his stress levels are up. And then this morning Scott showed up to serenade me. Derek couldn’t even get out of bed, I had to get rid of Scott by myself! I’m not saying I’m a damsel in distress, but what’s the point of having a personal bodyguard if they’re not doing their job?”

The Sheriff makes a face. “Scott serenaded you?”

“I know, disturbing. I know you’ve always wanted to officially add him to our little family, but this is _so_ the wrong way to go about it. Since we’re on the subject, do you think you and Melissa are ever gonna go on that date?”

His dad’s quick to divert his attention. “I guess I’ve been working Derek too hard lately. He’s decent and I’ve been relying on him more than usual.”

Stiles gasps and the Sheriff rolls his eyes in response. “This doesn’t mean anything. Now close your mouth and get out of my office.”

*

“My dad loves you!”

Derek snorts.

“No, really! He said, and I quote, ‘Derek Hale is my best employee and I will swear vengeance on anyone who opposes his future at this station’. I could see he had a lump in his throat.”

“Your lies keep getting worse.”

“Well, I’m sure the sentiment was there. Dad doesn’t just give out praises to motivate his employees for no reason. Do you know how big of a deal this is? Dad still yells at Parrish to pick up the phone, and he’s dad’s favorite deputy. Y’know how this is gonna go, right?”

“I have a record.”

“The charges were dropped. Seriously, don’t even worry about it.”

“Why are you so set on this?”

Stiles grabs onto Derek’s head and stares intently into the alpha’s eyes.

“Derek. There is no power on this Earth – do you hear me? – _nothing_ , that will come between me and my desire to see you in a deputy’s uniform. Nothing.”

There’s no skip in his heartbeat this time, and Derek nods, slowly, noticeably wary of unleashing the crazy. Stiles nods back. Derek looks like he’s pretending to find Stiles’ intensity charming, and who knows, maybe he does? Derek’s romantic track record speaks volumes.

Derek clears his throat to break Stiles out of his reverie. “Are you going to be a deputy, too?”

Stiles lets go of Derek’s head and pouts.

“Nah. My dad would never let me; I’ve broken too many laws as it is. He knows it’ll never _not_ be an issue. I’ll probably get to be a consultant every now and then.” He nestles against Derek and sighs. “It’s a good thing you’re rich. My future bestiaries, supernatural self-help guides and assorted books on magic aren’t going to cut it if we want to send all our children to college.”

Derek stills and his eyes becomes heated.

Stiles nips Derek’s jaw and grins. “You know I’m going to get you pregnant, too, right?”

Derek huffs and Stiles feels a spike of genuine irritation. Derek grabs him by the waist and rolls them over, pinning Stiles to the bed. He waits for his inevitable ravishing, but it never comes; one glance is enough to tell him Derek’s in danger of falling asleep. Again.

“Hey Derek…? How come you’ve been so tired these past few days?” He’s curious if Derek just forgot about Peter, or if the Alpha is going to pretend he did nothing to his uncle.

Derek sighs, his voice betraying just how _beyond_ tired the Alpha is.

“I know nobody’s tried to jump you since they were given the remedy, but my instincts are going crazy.” Another sigh. “I think this goes back to just before Christmas, when you first became a surrogate.”

Stiles freezes; Derek nuzzles his neck, aiming for comfort.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before. It’s just a theory, but it’s not something we can keep on ignoring… I don’t think the fairy knew she was drawn to you magically. Your connection to the Nemeton isn’t obvious, but it’s there. And it’s… Growing. As an Alpha, as someone with close and personal ties to you, I can feel it. Getting you pregnant would be like staking claim on Beacon Hills.”

Stiles shivers and lets himself be buried into Derek’s tightening embrace.

“Every supernatural creature is going to be drawn to you even if they don’t realize it, at least until you get pregnant. I think even the betas aren’t immune.”

“Derek,” Stiles’ tone is careful. “Say I finally get pregnant. What happens after?”

Derek doesn’t look him in the eye.

“I don’t know. But we’ll figure it out.”

“And here I thought you just wanted me full of your jizz until I ballooned a few sizes.”

Derek finally looks at Stiles and flashes his eyes. “That, too.”

Stiles welcomes the sudden burst of energy and the ensuing activities – a welcome and fulfilling distraction – but is happy to note Derek’s prioritizing his own health. This time, and what proves to be a first, it only takes Derek barely ten minutes to exhaust himself. Stiles is less thankful when he realizes he’s trapped under Derek’s heavier frame and he can’t get to his box of tissues. He accepts his sticky fate with quiet resignation.

*

Stiles takes a deep breath and tries to ease the death grip he has on Derek. The big guy doesn’t even flinch, as if his fingers aren’t being strangled.

“Dad, we need to have a grown-up conversation.”

That night, Sheriff doesn’t end up using his gun because Stiles hid the bullets, but his liquor cabinet gets upended. Thank god Stiles had the foresight to refill it. He’s certain he’s not winning any awards for Best Son of the Year, but there would’ve been way less drinking and more yelling if he hadn’t restocked.

Derek gets dumped on the porch, but Stiles sneaks him back in once he cuts off his dad after four glasses. Any more, and his dad becomes an angry drunk, which kinda defeats the whole purpose of letting his dad drink in the first place.

“I’m going to be a grandfather.” The statement is delivered with glistening eyes, the tone in his voice some combination of frustration, disappointment and surprisingly—joy.

Stiles smiles and pats his dad on the back before he tells him to turn in. All in all: not a bad end to the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! And seriously behind the schedule, as I meant to have 3 more parts ready by now.  
> No beta as per usual, I'll try and fix any mistakes later. I just hope I didn't leave any notes in since I'm once again doing a rush-job with editing lmao (sincere apologies to anyone who's had to witness those)  
> Thank you to everyone who commented, they brightened my day when I finally logged back in. I'm sorry for not replying sooner.  
> IRL my life's been very tough and scary this year, but I think that's the case with pretty much EVERYONE because 2020 has proven to be a very trying year. I'm ok, I hope whoever's reading this is as well.  
> *plays Nina Simone's Ain't Got No, I Got Life on repeat*


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles Pt. 2  
>  by Scott McCall  
>    
>  This song is so important  
>  Dude  
>  I wrote it for you  
>  Because baby  
>  it's what a talented singer-songwriter with multiple Grammy nominations would do  
>    
>  And here’s how it go-go-goes  
>    
>  Ooh!  
>    
>  Your lips are so shiny  
>  so plump and so soft  
>  I never dreamed a dude  
>  could make me so hot  
>    
>  Oh oh oh  
>  Whoa  
>    
>  We used to be brothers  
>  but baby, you're my soul and heart  
>  It's about time we became lovers  
>  and I promise  
>  we'll never have to part  
>    
>  So baby, lick my  
>  (yuh yuh)  
>  and I'll lick yours  
>  (yeah)  
>    
>  Ooh ooh oh oh ooh  
>  Oh oh oh  
>  Whoa  
>    
>  You threw me down  
>  shackled me into your love dungeon  
>  And hid the key  
>  Because baby  
>  I became your slave  
>    
>  Slave, slave  
>  Love, love  
>  Slave  
>    
>  Never let me out  
>  Whoa oh oh ooh

Stiles traces the ridge with his tongue, mapping out the bumps before he starts sucking on the tip, his cheeks hollowing as he takes in more and more.

“You know,” Allison muses, “I’ve always suspected Scott of also being bisexual,” Stiles thinks she means _bro-sexual_ , “but I didn’t stop to really think about it, because any signs I noticed were overshadowed by you being… You.”

Stiles carefully pulls out the half-eaten pickle from his mouth, careful not to let any of the juices go to waste.

“Stiles, it’s a pickle. Just bite it.”

“But it’s not ready yet. I have to suck out all the juices until nothing gushes out when I bite into it. That way I get the perfect nuances of the flavor.”

“Stop waxing poetic about pickles and _look around you_. Scott’s getting ideas.”

Sure enough, when Stiles risks a glance towards Scott sitting at the other end of the table, his bro’s licking a banana and it’s… Well.

It’s something, alright.

Scott keeps his eyes on Stiles, so instead of just simply molesting the banana, he’s uselessly wiggling his tongue, and the appendage just happens to touch the banana at random.

“Scott, please stop playing with your food.”

*

Stiles crams his books back into his locker in preparation of leaving, when Jackson leans next to it. Stiles feels the beginnings of a pinched nerve—or several.

“No. Nope. Not doing this today. Go away, Jackson.”

“Looking good, Stilinski. Bet I could make you look even better. Think about it. Me, you on my arm, prom.”

Stiles gives him the hairy eyeball and proceeds to ignore his royal smugness.

He doesn’t make it far; barely two steps.

“If you don’t come to the prom with me, I’ll tell Lydia who stole my first kiss.”

*

Like any aspiring superhero turned into a supervillain, Stiles has a dark past.

There’s one incident in particular that haunts him, one he hasn’t told Scott about.

It happened one autumn, after Lydia emerged from her summer vacation a whole new person. A goddess among mortals.

Stiles wasn’t the only one who noticed.

While Jackson and Lydia wouldn’t start dating until a few years later down the line, there existed one irrefutable truth.

Lydia wanted Jackson. Jackson wanted Lydia.

She approached the task of securing her future boyfriend like any other task in her life. With meticulous planning and details.

Stiles saw her measure and cut up colorful paper and fold it into a perfect rectangle. He saw her reach for her crayons to draw shapes – flowers and bees, because even back then she was several years ahead of her peers – and then her pencil, to write a very important message inside.

What Stiles didn’t know at the time, was that the card wasn’t for him. Sure, he’d _suspected_ it wasn’t for him, but there was no fighting the happiness that overtook him when he saw the card on his desk after returning inside from recess a little too early.

A recess that wouldn’t be ending until much, much later.

What he didn’t know, was that the card’s true recipient had been Jackson, who’d dropped it in his haste to get to the suggested meeting place.

What he also didn’t know, was that the person waiting for him in the dark storage closet, wasn’t Lydia.

It had been over two minutes of heaven, excess saliva and tongue-twisting, and a lifetime of trauma after… Well. _After_.

Lydia’s plan had been romantic and simple; by her standards anyway. Pretend to be suffering from overheating, and make Jackson go get her some water from inside. Jackson would find her card – complete with instructions – and go wait for Lydia in the suggested meeting place, if his answer to _Will you be my boyfriend?_ _♥_ was meant to be a yes. Lydia, missing her water, would follow inside if Jackson took too long to get it.

It would’ve been the perfect plan, if not for the variable known as Stiles Stilinski.

Jackson would go on to think he had been pranked, which resulted in Lydia feeling snubbed after she discovered the storage closet she finally arrived at… Was empty. They wouldn’t speak to each other for a full three years, until they both had climbed the social ladder and become so popular it was simply unavoidable that they would be in the same room together.

Lydia’s plan had been revealed, and Jackson learned the full truth of the situation; not that he would ever tell Lydia just who had dared to encroach on her territory, for fear of embarrassment. Lydia would learn Jackson had lost his first kiss to someone else, but not to whom.

Stiles had had no problem being sworn into secrecy – encouraged into doing so with Jackson occasionally taking turns to bully Stiles instead of Scott – but what further cemented his resolve, was the very public declaration of revenge Lydia made in front of the entire school. She’d been looking at the jealous faces of the girls in their class, but Stiles wasn’t foolish enough to think he’d escape her wrath just because he was a _boy_. After all, his actions had derailed her plans of dating Jackson by _years_.

Even now, should his shameful past be revealed, there would be consequences. Stiles is sure of it. Which is why it must be never talked _or_ thought about.

*

Stiles has his elbows propped against the table in front of him, both of his feet jiggling in agitation under the tablecloth.

This kind of place is usually way out of his budget, but Jackson seems to be in his element. The beta takes a delicate sip from his fancy medium roast that would cost four times what Stiles usually pays for a single cup of coffee at the local diner. Of course, Jackson had generously ordered and paid for him as a treat, but so far, Stiles hasn’t been able to touch his drink.

“Thank you for the coffee,” he begins wearily, “but you really didn’t have to bring me here.”

The waiter just a few tables away from them seems to agree, shooting disdainful glances at what Stiles is wearing.

Jackson puts down his cup and reaches across the table to take hold of one of Stiles’ hands, gently cupping it between his palms.

“And why ever not?”

“Not really my scene.”

“It could be. With a little help.”

“Jackson, if I wanted a slice of, I dunno, whatever _this_ is, I hate to break it to you, but Derek’s way richer than you.”

“Money can’t buy you class,” Jackson huffs. “I’m giving you an opportunity to elevate yourself.”

Okay, that’s it.

Stiles rips his hand back and lets his building fury consume him.

“If you weren’t Derek’s beta, I would walk right out and never talk to you again. If I knew you’d be like this, I wouldn’t have bothered to come here with you.”

“But—”

“ _To hell with the kiss already_.”

Jackson shuts up.

“Back when Lydia saved your lizard ass, I thought you’d gotten over the _garbage_ idea of you thinking you need to bribe people to be around you.” He stands up and looks at Jackson’s rabidly paling features, contempt pooling in his stomach.

“I don’t reward my werewolf children for bad behavior and you’re no exception to the rule, Jackson. For one, you can’t do puppy eyes. Secondly, you can’t do a full-shift. I bet you’ll look _bald_ and _hairless_ when you finally do it. You have nothing to bribe me with!

“I didn’t come here to bargain. I came here to drill some sense into you. If you wanna tell Lydia or—or _whoever_ , about our little secret we agreed to never talk about, go ahead. But you can’t force me into doing something I don’t want to do.

“We’re way past the days when you could bully me into doing, well, anything. Lately it’s been the other way around, don’t you think?”

He’s already at the doors, when he speedwalks back and downs his coffee – thankfully cool enough to swallow without burning his mouth – while glaring at Jackson who can’t look him in the eye all of a sudden, and then leaves again.

What?

You can’t waste good coffee. You just can’t.

*

A full day later, Jackson appears next to his locker again, looking rough. Defeated.

Stiles almost forgives him on the spot.

“I’m sorry for yesterday,” Jackson’s both scowling and blushing, “and I think I know what you were trying to say. I… I’m working on it.”

Stiles nods, ultimately appeased. The spell hasn’t exactly brought out the best qualities in anyone. Why should Jackson be any different?

Jackson fidgets and finally looks Stiles in the eye.

“I know I can’t compete against Derek, but I… I’d like to… I really want to go to the prom with you.”

Stiles rubs his face and looks at the passing faces in the hallway. Luck is on his side because Danny’s just around the corner.

“I need you to take Jackson to the prom.”

Danny looks confused and wary; first at Stiles, then at Jackson—who’s, _once again_ , scowling. “Actually… I was thinking about asking someone else.”

“Jackson just asked me to the prom.”

“…You know what, I’d _love_ to take Jackson to the prom.”

Stiles means to clap Danny on the shoulder, but Danny eyes his moving hand like he won’t appreciate the gesture, so Stiles flails it around a little before forcefully grabbing it with his other hand to stop it from moving.

“Are your hands actually possessed?”

…It’s not a bad theory, actually.

“I’m not taking Danny to the prom,” comes Jackson’s mulish voice.

Stiles counts to ten, keeps his cool. “Gentlemen, why don’t we take this somewhere private.”

 _Somewhere private_ turns out to be an empty space next to a trash can as other students walk by to get to their classes. Whatever. It’s not _that_ smelly, and mostly they have to dodge flying candy-wrappers. Danny looks unsure about his place and purpose in the world, and why he’s allowed himself – once again – to be dragged into business he doesn’t want to be dragged into. Ah, the perils of friendship.

“Let’s join our hands together,” Stiles instructs. Danny is slow to comply, but Jackson is enthusiastic enough to make up for his friend’s listlessness. Stiles tries not to squirm when Jackson’s thumb rubs against his wrist.

“Jackson, this is a circle of love. Danny and I are here as your loving…” He has to try hard not to bite his tongue. “… _Friends_.” Ugh, yuck. It might be true, but he doesn’t have to like it. “We love you. Now, can you tell me why?”

Jackson raises his eyebrows. “I know I’m good looking.”

“What else?”

“What are you getting at, Stilinski?” _Irritation_. That’s good. Feels almost normal.

“You know you’re loved. Lydia proved that, once.”

“What’s this about?”

“I want you to take a deep breath,” Jackson complies after a beat, taking in a lungful, “and repeat after me: I am loved. I am worthy of love. I love myself.”

“I am loved. I am…” An encouraging smile from Danny. “Worthy of love.”

“And?”

“And I…”

Jackson becomes quiet, and Stiles decides to keep the momentum going.

“You’re one of the hottest, most popular guys in school.”

“You’re everyone’s type,” Danny pipes in.

“…Right, what he said.” He’s not even gonna ask. “Your parents and friends love you and they’re proud of you. _I’m_ proud of you. You’re a loyal friend, and you take good care of those you care about. Despite your recent behavior, you’re still my favorite beta.”

Oh, hey, is that Jackson looking smug again?

“And I need you to understand, that you don’t _need_ to look for love and acceptance from other people – _especially me_ – because you already have it. You just need to… Look inside yourself. _Feel_ the love. _Grow_ with love.”

Stiles tugs his hands away from the other two, relieved when Jackson lets go without a fuss. Time for Danny to work on his best friend mojo, because Stiles is getting outta here as fast as his human legs will take him.

“Danny my boy, the floor is yours.”

With a clap to Danny’s back – and Danny’s totally letting him do it this time! – Stiles slides away.

See, he just _knew_ spying on that strange group of witches that one time would come in handy. Bloodthirsty hags they may have been, but they were well-versed in healing exercises and other assorted self-help crap. Granted, he’d almost become yet another statistic by way of becoming a virgin sacrifice, but that’s neither here nor there. (Besides, that’s at least one incident not likely to have a repeat performance. Derek certainly saw to that.)

*

Derek looks on menacingly from his seat in the stands and Stiles nearly swoons. His peripheral vision shows his dad roll his eyes.

"Stilinski!" Coach barks out. "It’s the last half of the game! Snap out of it and get out there!"

"Yes Coach!"

He ignores Greenberg’s shout of outrage (“ _Why won’t you love me?!_ ” “ _Because you’re the worst player I’ve ever had on my team!_ ”) and gets ready to kick some ass.

…Or eat some grass, as it turns out. He feels rather than sees his dad cringe, and Derek would probably eat the person that landed Stiles in this position, if Stiles hadn’t done this to himself. He’s not a complete disappointment though, because he _did_ manage to pass the ball onto Boyd, who takes it and runs their team to victory, wrapping up the season with a bang. Not bad for their last game.

Stiles whoops along, trying not to get squashed in the middle as he goes to hug Boyd while the rest of the team follows suit. The lacrosse mob disperses once Erica leaves the stands and dives in to claim her man. Even Coach gets pushed aside.

Despite the group hug having come to an end, a suspiciously familiar set of arms are still attached to Stiles’ torso.

“Hey Scott?”

Stiles can almost see Scott’s imaginary tail wagging.

“Meet me here after you’ve changed. There’s something you need to hear.”

Scott rushes to the showers immediately.

*

“Stiles?”

Scott looks around him at the field and stands, mostly empty except for a few stragglers, but Stiles himself is nowhere to be seen. Scott’s about to leave in search of him when the lights turn off.

They come back on again, their full glare concentrated on Scott and he brings his hands to shield himself. When he lowers them again, it’s Allison who’s standing in front of him.

She looks nervous.

“Have you seen Stiles? He told me to—"

She raises her left hand and rests the tips of her fingers against his mouth, to silence him, gently. The other cups his face, with the barest touch, but possessive all the same. Scott’s eyes widen but he doesn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry for keeping secrets from you, and for hurting you. For hurting your friends in the past. I know that by hurting them, I was hurting you, because… Because I was making you choose. I didn’t realize it at the time, that when I hurt them, when I kept secrets from you, I was making you choose between myself and everyone else without letting you _in_. I made you draw lines, kept you from connecting to a pack that wanted you.

“Scott… You’re perfect. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like there’s something wrong with you being a werewolf. Actually… I know I have. I’m sorry, _because_ I have made you feel like that. And I’m sorry for making you believe only your mom and Stiles can give you the love you deserve. If you let me, I’d like to prove you wrong.”

Stiles fights back his ugly sobbing, discreetly snapping a few pictures on his phone, holding it up with shaky hands just as Scott throws his arms around Allison and kisses her.

“I can’t believe he didn’t see you,” Isaac whispers from beside him.

“It’s the spell,” he sniffs the snot back up his nose, “it’s dissipating and giving way to _true love_.”

Isaac nods, looking a little wistful. Both of them turn and start making their way towards the parking lot, where the others are no doubt waiting for them.

Once more in control of his tear tracts and after having wiped his face on the hem of his shirt, Stiles focuses on comforting the beta.

“You know, you could try and make it as a triad. Maybe Scott and Allison will take you as their hot model boyfriend slash lover.”

“Maybe. I think they need some time together, with just the two of them. I can wait, I’ve got time.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I told you I was going to nursing school, didn’t I? I’m going to be seeing Melissa and Scott for a few more years at least.”

“You’re a good kid, Isaac.” Isaac blushes.

Pissed off about losing the game, a couple of the players from the opposing team make a less than savory comment about the recently united couple in passing. Unfortunately for the poor devils, they never make it back to their bus unscathed. Stiles winces but hangs back to watch Isaac finish his trashing.

*

**from Daddy Argent 07.19 PM**

_The names on the list have been dealt with. Let me know how it goes on your end._

*

After victory pizza, one last speech from the Coach, and the Sheriff hugging his son for a game played surprisingly well, the group disperses and Derek and Stiles head towards the reserve.

Stepping out of the car, Stiles reaches for Derek’s hand, trusting the Alpha to navigate them through the darkness to the agreed upon location.

Finally reaching their destination, Stiles gasps. The light from the moon seems almost too bright, illuminating every little detail within the clearing. A few of the plants and trees glow strangely, as though they’re not real but a figment of the viewer’s imagination.

Even Derek seems likewise mesmerized.

“It’s perfect,” Stiles murmurs.

Lips taste his - sweet, so sweet - and Stiles welcomes it with a grin, easily devoured by Derek's own. If someone were to watch them now, they'd see Derek's teeth peeking out.

When his back hits the cold ground, Stiles can't suppress the hiss and near moan that escape him, welcoming the familiar friction. _The heat_. None of this is pretend like he intended.

“Let it out,” Derek coaxes.

Stiles gives into the need and cries out into the night. He can hear the strange sound echo through the trees.

A rustling of leaves, and their time's up.

*

Izzy looks the same as ever, sans hangover blues. She’s not alone. Although it looks so different from what it was before, Stiles recognizes the thing instantly.

In place of a deceptively cute, fuzzy exterior, Izzy's rabbit now sports fur in uneven patches, the skin peeking through leathery and gray, stretched over ribs that sharpen the emaciated form. It has grown in size, its limbs long and spindly, their movement not unlike a spider's. Its gaping maw sports two, long shards with jagged edges in a mockery of teeth. The beady eyes have changed, too; not red, but something that reminds Stiles of peeled raw flesh. Or skinned grapes.

Stiles has a feeling _this_ little rabbit wouldn't be winning any _Best In Show_ awards at any of the local competitions, not unless they'd recently added a category labeled _Best Most Horrific Mutations_. Or _Best In Killing Boners_. Hey, even Beacon Hills has some standards.

"No blue ribbon for Mr. Bunbun."

Derek ignores Stiles’ mumbling and stands up to face the thing. Tilting his head back, he lets loose a howl so potent, it reverberates through Stiles’ entire body. A beat, and then, two eager howls answer back. Stiles would recognize those anywhere and feels a different kind of excitement course through him.

Derek makes the first move, not giving the rabbit time to sink its claws into Derek. Derek manages a few swipes, making the rabbit stumble and gear up for an attack.

Stiles stands up, just in time to watch his cubs spring from behind the trees and aim straight for the rabbit’s jugular.

Izzy screams in rage and uses her strength to swat Derek aside, but she’s too late to prevent her pet’s demise. The cubs are doing what their Alpha has trained them to do; tearing and shredding, biting their prey. Spilling its blood until the thing making unholy screeches becomes weaker, _weaker_ … Dead.

Izzy creeps towards Derek’s fallen figure – he seems relatively unharmed to Stiles’ eyes, just winded, and she’s too angry to notice – but Stiles intercepts her. The cubs growl but stay back.

He licks his lips. “L-let me. To whom am I dedicating this sacrifice?”

Izzy tilts her head, contemplative.

“Come to your senses, have you? Knew you were smart.” She comes closer and cups his cheek, rage turning to triumph. “Very well. You may dedicate this death to _Ishtar_.”

Stiles’ pulse quickens. Her mouth turns into a sharp grin.

“What is yours to give, shall be mine. As a reward, I give you my true name _Inanna_.”

As soon as the name falls from her lips, a ring of light appears like string around her neck. She drops her hand in shock, clutching at her throat, eyes panicking.

The air around them shimmers; Oberon and Titania step into the clearing, their expressions hungry.

Yeah… So. Stiles’ stance on magical enslavement might’ve been a little premature. He laughs.

“Didn’t pay attention to where you were following us, did ya? Sorry Dorothy, but we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

He was worried the scenic illusion was looking a little too obvious even if the stones marking the circle were hidden, but clearly, Izzy was too focused on her prize to notice she was treading on fae ground.

“Well done, Stiles,” his fae kids chorus together, like the creepy little twins they are. Izzy screams and tries to move, but a snap of Oberon’s fingers has her silent and still. Titania claps her hands gleefully.

“As per agreement, in exchange for this gift,” Tatiana looks slyly at Stiles, “we will move our court elsewhere. Our elders tell us there are other places for us to conquer. Places with trees like the Nemeton.”

Oberon looks concerned. “We will leave our realm open, but there will be no-one to guard it.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that.” Stiles jerks his head towards his cubs, who are busy eating the rabbit’s corpse.

Tatiana looks _fascinated_. “To think, a mortal knows this much about our ways. Yes, we now see what has taken place and we are pleased with all you have achieved with your wolves. Pity we have to leave you behind.”

*

Derek watches the cubs curiously.

“They can travel between the realms at will?”

“Yup.”

The fae are very particular.

To stay in their realm, you need to eat. Eat what is being offered, you become a slave.

Eat what has been won however… You become your own master.

“They answer to me?”

“You’re their Alpha. Now, aren’t you glad you decided to keep them?”

Derek’s eyes flash. “I’m more glad I decided to keep you.”

“Ha! Such a sweet-talker. As if you’d let anyone else have me. Now take me home and ravish me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, writing the first few chapters: hmm 7k seems like a good word count  
> me looking into a mirror: bitch


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How much can I get away with when the fic’s rated M for Mature? Let's find out.

Everyone is already waiting by the entrance in pairs – even Isaac, who found himself a date just for tonight – when Derek drops Stiles off in his Camaro. If Stiles is gonna go stag, he’s at least gonna do it in style. Before Derek has the chance to drive away, Stiles walks to the driver’s side and leans down, motioning for Derek to roll down the window. Derek meets him half-way, their kiss disgustingly sappy.

He runs up the stairs, signaling the others to go in. They do, all except for Lydia – looking amazing in her berry red shoes and her plaid dress – who hovers on the front steps.

Her face is flushed and her eyes are puffy around the edges, like she’s been crying and she's trying very hard not to cry again. An ocean of red hair framing a surly face. When Stiles gets to her, the look she gives him is so violent, he flinches.

“Uh. Give us a minute, guys.”

Cora is the last to go in, shooting worried glances at _him_ and not at Lydia.

*

The classroom they find is empty.

At first Lydia has her back turned to Stiles. She whirls around and he takes an instinctive step back.

“You’re a little bitch, you know that?”

Okay, so he didn’t expect _that_.

“Umm…”

“All you’re good for is a worthless fuck. The only reason Derek spends what little time he has with you, is so he can use your mouth whenever he feels like blowing a load. You’re nothing but a miserable little slut. You mean _nothing_ to me. You mean nothing to _anyone_. Your own father thinks you’re an embarrassment.”

Lydia laughs, cold and humorless. "I hate you so much and I still. Want. You."

Stiles is about done. There’s only so much that can be excused by the spell; Lydia might not be in her right mind, but her vicious words cut deep. Maybe because they’re coming from her. Someone who he thought had finally grown to care about him like he cares about her. "Well don't. Just stop."

"I _can't_!" She screeches. "You did this to me! What I have with Cora, it's not...!"

She moves fast and tries to punch him in the throat. Stiles dodges her, eerily calm, grabbing her wrists and holding them to the side.

She gets ready to kick him, but then he shoves her backward into the nearest desk; it nearly topples over from the impact.

That’s when Lydia finally breaks and starts crying.

"Why? Why you? Why do _you_ ," she hiccups and coughs, unable to swallow what little dignity she has left and apologize, "get the fairytale ending? _You_ were in love with _me_! Why do you get to live happily ever after, but I don't?"

And that’s what this is about. Lydia thinks she can’t lose, because _Lydia Martin_ doesn’t _lose_.

When she and Jackson broke up, it was on her terms, even when it was about Jackson’s incompatible orientation.

When her parents divorced, she made sure she wasn’t forgotten about. To this day, her father tries to buy her love every chance he gets.

Back in middle school, when everyone started going through puberty and she was made to feel like an insignificant little girl, she took control of her image, throwing herself fully into the mold she wanted people to see. Honing herself to perfection until she was unattainable, and boys couldn’t so much as talk to her without her approval. Stiles knows this because he tried, he saw her, he’d always seen her, and she never gave him the time of the day.

Years of conditioning himself to bow before his Queen, Stiles’ first instinct is to try and make her feel better now that she’s crying so helplessly in front of him.

It’s almost immediately replaced by a surge of anger so sudden and strong, he nearly vibrates with it; strong enough to make him ball his hands into fists, short nails digging into his palms and he doesn’t even care that it hurts.

“You know, I’d never gotten anything I wanted in life. Until Derek. And maybe that wasn’t so much me getting what I wanted, but Derek wanting me in return.”

Lydia shakes her head, not wanting to hear this. Stiles pushes on.

“You want the kind of love you had with Jackson, but it takes time. You don’t want me. You’re obsessed with the _idea_ of wanting me, of winning me like you would have if the spell had happened before I met Derek. Of being loved.”

“Stop…”

“It must be exhausting, winning all the time. Let it go, Lydia _. Let it go_. Losing once in your life doesn’t make you a failure. It just means you have to try again, like the rest of us mortals.”

It finally gets through to her. Lydia bursts into more tears and Stiles envelops her in a hug.

“Shh. It’s okay, you mad bitch. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

“D-don’t call me a bi-hi-iitch,” she manages to gasp out. Stiles pats her awkwardly and comes to a revolutionary realization: he’s probably the only guy in the world who’s called Lydia a bitch and _not_ had their scrotum ripped out.

Jackson and Danny step into the classroom - Stiles is a little relieved they were within hearing distance if something bad had happened - Jackson taking over in comforting Lydia by way of hugging her close and Stiles giving his guardianship over her to the other two.

Exchanging quiet reassurances, Stiles leaves them to it.

When he gets to the gym – beautifully decorated in plaid and fairy lights and flowers, and it shouldn’t work, but it does – Cora waves him over to their table.

Cora doesn’t ask him questions, but deeming Stiles okay, simply nods.

Not feeling the need to dance himself, he’s plenty satisfied just watching the others. Isaac is twirling his date around the floor, making her giggle. Erica is dancing far too intimately with Boyd – well, more like grinding against him – to the point the Coach has to step in and threaten her with detention. Or a lesson in sex ed. For now he’s undecided. (“So you better stop that, Reyes.”)

A few feet away, Scott and Allison are leaning against each other, going slowly in circles.

Fifteen minutes later, Lydia finally appears, looking as impeccable and flawless as ever, lipstick and mascara in place. Alone, because Danny and Jackson have gone for refreshments. Cora asks her if she’s okay, and when Lydia turns to look at him, nervous and shy, he simply rolls his eyes and mouths “ _later_ ” at her. Lydia smiles and lets Cora take her to the dance floor.

Stiles watches them, happy and content in a way he doesn’t think he’s ever been before.

It must trigger something within him, because in an instant, his heart skips a beat and he starts sweating. The feeling all too familiar by now.

He stumbles out just as his legs are about to give out. He gets outside and Derek has his car parked in front of the entrance. The Alpha is leaning against it, a strange intensity playing across his features.

Stiles swears, because Derek never left.

_Derek knew_.

The Full Moon is still one day away. Why now? What isn’t Derek telling him?

*

Stiles keeps fidgeting in his seat. “Stop the car.”

“We’re in the middle of—”

“—Nowhere, I know. _Stop the car_.”

He can’t explain it, this sudden nervousness. Derek doesn’t seem perturbed, which makes him only more nervous.

As soon as Derek slows down, Stiles doesn’t wait: he unclasps and yanks the seatbelt off, bolting out the door before Derek has had time to turn off the engine.

*

He’s been running for ages when he thinks to stop, taking stock of his surroundings. He’s already too deep in the woods, which bodes ill for his survival against a horny werewolf.

He lets out a pitiful sob and—

What the hell is he doing? He’s a human who’s been able to keep up with werewolves ever since he decided to toss a Molotov cocktail at a roaring, hulked-out and completely unhinged Alpha Peter at the tender age of _way too young for that kinda BS_. He has survived a kanima, a darach, frigging _Argents_ , PLURAL, a tree-hugging chaos demon, Oompa Loompas, an ancient Goddess and many other creatures besides, half of which the Nemeton knows nothing about and which he’s had to learn to defend himself against all on his own. (That. Might be an exaggeration since, mostly, he makes a mess and the wolves clean up after him.)

He might be squeamish about, well, _many things_ , even to the point of passing out, but he does _not_ fear sex with Derek. Derek occasionally, yes, because the guy’s intense, but then so is Stiles. Sex with Derek is a _reward_ , not a punishment, despite what the resulting panic from his rapidly approaching transformation is trying to fool him into thinking this very moment.

Derek sort of implied what would happen to his body around the Full Moon, having subjected Stiles to his freaky supersperm, but he never went into... Specifics. As if he never expected Stiles to learn or know what was happening to his body before it was too late to stop it, and it's pissing him off.

If Derek wants him, he’s gonna have to work for it.

He’s curious, if he was to use everything he has in his arsenal, whether he’d be able to outrun and hide from a born werewolf—not even a born werewolf, but an alpha. _His_ Alpha.

He hears Derek’s excited howl and gives a feral grin of his own.

*

It doesn’t take long for Stiles to be found, mostly because he wants to be found.

Stiles sees the instant his scent hits Derek. Derek regards him with a heavy cloud of want. And Stiles… Stiles wants Derek _now_.

Too bad he’s too stubborn to simply give himself up.

He throws the mix of crushed flowers and dry leaves in Derek’s face; the barest hint of wolfsbane mixed in, since he doesn’t want to actually harm the Alpha. Derek roars, furious at having been denied.

Stiles concentrates on the Nemeton's energy flowing through the ley-lines, deep underground, trusting them to guide him. And then he’s off, his steps quick and light as air.

He can hear the crash of smaller trees and branches snapping behind him, making it easy for Stiles to determine which direction Derek is coming from. Derek won’t be able to see properly, not until the effects wear off, so for now the Alpha’s following his scent and his breathing.

At one point, it starts to feel like Derek’s not really trying. As if he’s waiting for something.

By the time Stiles realizes what it might be, it’s too late.

He cries out when he feels himself clench and tighten inside, his lower half swell with need, making him stumble and fall; and that’s how Derek finds him, lying in a heap, half-caked in mud.

Derek has the gall to smirk.

“Not fair!” Stiles picks up a rock and throws it at Derek’s stupid head; Derek avoids it easily. “I demand a rematch!”

“A rock? Really, Stiles?”

Stiles picks up another rock. Derek rolls his eyes and lets Stiles take aim. It hits Derek squarely in the chest, but it doesn’t seem to do anything. Derek doesn’t even acknowledge it.

“You don’t seem scared anymore.”

“Should I be? Oh fearsome Alpha, should I roll over and show you my belly? Submit myself to you mindlessly as I tremble from fear?”

Derek shrugs. “Your body is doing what it was designed to do when you started taking my knot regularly. It wants to submit. It’s only your human side fighting back, scared of the change. The power. Why not give in? This only needs to happen once.”

“Sure. Until the next time your Alpha side takes over and decides it needs another cub.”

Derek chuckles, and Stiles feels himself grow impossibly fond of the asshole in front of him. He wonders what it could possibly signify that he likes this side of Derek. That they make a great couple because both of them speak asshole fluently?

“I expected you to succumb to fear. It’s usually what happens with humans when they go through the temporary change,” Derek purrs. “I’m happy you proved me wrong.”

Derek uses Flirt Mode on Stiles. It’s Super Effective!

Stiles tries to swallow, calling attention to the discomfort of a suddenly dry throat; the way his body betrays his feelings without permission.

“Oh y-yeah?” He croaks out.

Derek gives him a coy smile and saunters towards him, like he’s got all the time in the world to make Stiles change his mind, like his balls are too big for him to walk like a normal person. Stiles is not drooling. He’s not!

Stiles realizes too late he’s been had when Derek comes close enough Stiles can see his overblown pupils; a sure sign the Alpha’s not gonna back down. His own pupils widen in fear and Derek pounces.

*

His clothes are strewn across the forest floor. Derek’s been utilizing his tongue on Stiles’ private parts for… Too long. Stiles should’ve finished at least once by now; instead he’s been kept on edge, fingers scrabbling against the detritus around him uselessly, voice hoarse from begging.

He feels like he’s coming, except he’s not. It’s freaking him out.

“Give in, Stiles,” Derek growls, “for once, _listen to your body_.”

“Don’t tell me what to d—ohh my god.” His mouth opens in a silent scream of pure, undiluted _pleasure_ , something wet gushes out of him and his body makes a few spasms before he even realizes his eyes have rolled to the back of his head.

“There you go.”

Screw pride, _this is amazing_.

“Oh, o-kay, you know what? You win this round and I don’t even care. What do I do?”

“Nothing. That’s the point.”

Another spasm _wrecks_ his body and he giggles, already delirious and drunk from the feeling of whatever the transformation’s doing to his body. Derek made it seem like this was only temporary, but _screw that_. He’s gonna need a dose of whatever the hell this is every damn day for the rest of his life, please and thank you.

Derek smirks. “Knew you’d like it. The only reason I never said anything before, is because I knew you’d be stubborn enough to try fighting it before understanding how much pleasure it could give you. You would’ve probably succeeded too, found some way to stop the transformation before it could reach its final stages. But then you’d never have _this_.”

Stiles gasps as yet another wet gush leaves his body, dribbling out like drool, making his toes curl from the sheer intensity. His heart is beating like crazy, making it hard to hear anything but his own pulse, its rhythm leaving him deaf to the outside world.

Derek rubs Stiles’ thighs in soothing circles, his hands traveling lower and lower, until his fingers are pushing in, the digits slipping in without resistance. Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever been this relaxed and open.

“Your body’s been preparing itself for me. You'll never submit yourself to anyone else. If someone even tries, you'll ruin them. Won't you?"

Stiles nods frantically. "Yes, yes, whatever you want. I'll be so good."

“Ready for the next part?”

Derek’s body twitches and jerks – Stiles can _feel_ the bones cracking, rearranging themselves into…

He gasps.

At first it’s like looking at Peter’s monstrous Alpha form. But unlike the former alpha’s cold eyes, filled with nothing but misery and the want to hurt, these eyes are gentle. It’s not a full transformation yet; Stiles can make out the features that are so uniquely Derek, that make him a little more human than the monstrous form he’s adopted on the outside.

It’s. Kinda hot, actually.

Derek grabs Stiles by the waist and flips him, arranging him into all fours. Stiles lowers his chest instinctively, pushing out his ass in invitation.

“Still want this?” Derek's voice remains deceptively human, but it’s got a deeper, rougher quality to it.

Stiles hisses. “Get inside me. _Now_.”

*

Derek’s big, _so big_ … “Ngah… Oh fu— _ahh_!”

Derek shushes him, lips against his neck, soothing and soft. Stiles can’t help but give an equally soft moan in response. More in recognition than from succumbing to the throes of pleasure.

God. He hopes his body can take it.

He’s submitting himself to the Alpha’s care while Derek offers reassurances that lets him sink deeper into Stiles. The Alpha keeps pressing down, _down_ , so big, and it’s still sinking in. Stiles bears down as best he can, but he can’t, it’s _too_ big, and it’s everything he’s ever wanted. It’s the only thing he can feel or think about, he might as well not be a person anymore. He takes refuge in the familiar, musky scent that blankets him – the only thing that lets his brain register he’s not having a panic attack, even if his head feels similarly empty and his breath is coming out in shallow pants – and he vaguely understands he’s biting into Derek’s arm.

He wants it all.

Stiles damn near sobs when Derek tells him he’s being so good, only a little further. “Can you feel it?”

“I’m going to die. Ahh damn.” He breaks into a whimper. “How much more?”

“Don’t you want it?”

Yes, he fucking wants it! That’s not what he asked! His insides are being re-arranged and he’s being driven mad. “Just get IN there!”

“Shh. Almost there. _Feel it_.”

His hips and thighs are spread as wide as they can go, as much as they can accommodate, stretching, aching. Derek gives a hard thrust, forcing the last of himself inside, and Stiles’ stomach flips in anticipation and victory both. He’s so full, Derek’s thighs press against his, skin and fur rubbing against each other and goddamn it’s _glorious_.

It’s like his body’s trying to suck Derek in; hopefully, it won’t be with so much force that Derek can’t pull himself out. Like a diver experiencing Delta P. That would be… Unfortunate. And painful.

He tries to rock back, but Derek keeps them both in place.

“Please, _Alpha_ ,” he can hear Derek emit a low growl at being addressed, and it goes straight to his already hard dick. Derek’s lips part, his tongue licking and mapping its territory. Stiles takes advantage of the distraction to lift his hips, giving them an experimental roll, prompting the were to move.

Derek snarls and presses his teeth against Stiles’ nape; Stiles’ whole body sags in surrender and trust, head lolling sideways. Derek’s snarl is punctuated with a thrust and Stiles tries his damnedest to regulate his breathing, trying not to give into the desperation and hysteria of thinking about how something so _big_ could ever fit inside him, how he’s supposed to take a knot after this. He’s got his Alpha. His Alpha will take good care of him.

Stiles whimpers again and Derek shushes him, his tongue somehow larger as it licks across the back of his neck and… Oh. Derek’s not so human anymore, is he? And Stiles is just letting Derek do his thing. His cheeks start to burn, flamed by thoughts of others seeing him like this. It makes his gut clench in both mortification and excitement, but he can’t stop undulating his back and hips, asking Derek to have his way with him with nothing but his body language to speak for him, now that he can’t… Can’t think.

He closes his eyes and lets the heat take over.

*

Stiles keeps coming up for air, the haze lifting enough to tell him of the passing of time – morning, noon, nightfall – before taking him under again.

The next time he becomes fully cognizant, the moon is out in its full glory. His burning body is overcome by a tingling sensation thanks to the cool air, the damp grass underneath him clinging against his sweaty skin.

Derek’s massive form regards him carefully in silence. Realizing he’s on his back and Derek’s not inside him, Stiles opens his arms to welcome the Alpha in once more.

Derek growls and it should be terrifying, but it’s not. His fanged, half-morphed face opens its jaws and Stiles –

Stiles totally wants to play tonsil hockey with the monster and its long, big, _inhuman_ tongue. He’s getting worked up just thinking about it.

Derek falls into Stiles’ embrace just as soft footfalls disturb the leaves around them, announcing the pack’s presence.

Derek slides himself home, slowly.

It doesn’t take long, not this time when it _can’t_. When Derek finishes, he makes his final howl. The betas follow their leader, the night sky filling up with the sounds of their strange ritual. Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Jackson, Peter and Cora. Artemis and Apollo, who are hopefully too young to understand what exactly it is they’re witnessing. And… Scott. Their latest adoptee. Stiles almost wishes the others were here too – except for his dad, because that’s a level of awkward he’s not prepared to deal with, ever – but knows it’s not their time yet. This one is just for the pack. Derek’s wolves.

The knot thrums inside and Stiles knows it will take, his body quivering in satisfaction and the feeling of completion.

*

“Heh. Guess what?”

“What?”

“You’re a real motherfucker, Derek Hale.” His tone becomes sultry. “Can I be the fatherfucker?”

Silence.

“That came out wrong. I don’t mean I wanna do my own dad—”

“Yes, I got it, thank you. Please stop talking about your dad while I’m still inside you.”

“So that’s a no? I can’t dominate your sweet, _sweet_ ass…?”

“The original terms still apply.”

“Dammit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably edit this later. In the meanwhile, enjoy my typos!


	7. Epilogue

Derek stares at the various dog training brochures and magazines Stiles has got his hands on. Courtesy of Scott — which the beta doesn’t know yet because Stiles hasn’t told him on account of them agreeing to not wanting to see or hear from each other for _at least_ a month.

There are some things in life your bro should never have to witness – like being impregnated by the guy you once framed for murder – and so it’s better for both of their mental health if they continue to pretend everything’s in order. Hopefully, once the month is up, they can move on with their lives. For now, they really can’t look each other in the eye for fear of being assaulted with… Images.

Stiles hopes Scott won’t get into too much trouble once Deaton notices the brochures and magazines missing from the clinic’s reception. Deaton will know who took them, and Scott’s supposed to be keeping an eye on Stiles because these days Deaton refuses to let Stiles visit the clinic without proper supervision.

Derek’s eyebrows are doing a weird dance, that even with Stiles’ expertise reveals next to nothing. “I’m starting to think our expectations are a little different.”

“It’s called denial. If I want to pretend I’m gonna be teaching a puppy how to go potty, I want you to nod along and keep quiet.”

Besides. Where there’s a Stiles, there’s a way.

“Werewolf infants don’t usually shift for long enough periods of time—”

Stiles makes a shushing noise, accompanied by a finger to the lips. “No need to talk. Nod if you understand.”

Once again, Derek’s forced to pretend he’s completely fine with Stiles’ obsessions, and Stiles knows Derek pretends he's only pretending, unwilling to admit to himself he might not be pretending.

Derek's therapist will have a field day when Derek finally agrees to a session, though when that day's upon them is still up in the air. Derek could probably squeeze out diamonds the way he clenches up anytime Stiles tries to poke around his brain a little bit, but then, maybe Derek wouldn't be so guarded against someone who's actually trying to help.

...Which is what Stiles is also trying to do. Derek should trust him more. ("I trust you... Enough.")

It’s Peter who breaks the resulting silence.

“…The cubs. They’re actual wolves, aren’t they?”

“You mean Artemis and Apollo? _Yup._ ” Stiles pops the ‘p’ at the end for emphasis, as he’s taken to doing every time he says the word. Which he does, a lot, to the point it could be considered a form of verbal abuse. Mostly though, he does it because he knows it grinds Peter’s gears.

“And you didn’t actually give birth to them.” It's not a question.

Stiles blinks at him innocently. “Why, whatever gave you the idea?”

Peter’s eyes flash dangerously but then he freezes.

*

Instead of another trip to the cemetery, Derek decides to settle on one of his favorite past-times that has lately gained more popularity: beating up creepy uncles.

Stiles winces when Derek throws Peter around. Maybe a little too hard?

Derek snarls.

“You don’t get it, Stiles. I wanted to have you, and I guarantee you I was just as desperate as the others, but I _chose_ not to act on those feelings until we were alone and I knew you wouldn’t object.”

“… A few broken ribs sound fine. Have at it.”

 _Crack_.

“I think you missed a bone.”

_Crunch._

“Never mind. You’re doing great, babe!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and feedback. (And I'm always open to concrit, too.)  
> See you in the next part!


End file.
